


Immortal Prince

by RoyalBlueRoses



Category: Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992), Dracula - Bram Stoker, Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Awesome Bulma Briefs, Blonde Launch (Dragon Ball), Blue-Haired Launch (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs/Vegeta Smut, Character Turned Into Vampire, Detectives, Dracula Influence/References, Dragon Ball Z - Freeform, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Genius Bulma Briefs, Horror, Human/Vampire Relationship, Mad Scientists, Murder, Mystery, Past Bulma Briefs/Yamcha, Private Investigators, Raditz (Dragon Ball) Lives, Reincarnation, Romance, Saiyan Culture, Saiyans, Suspense, True Love, Tuffles - Freeform, Vaiyans, Vampire Bites, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Van Helsing Style Werewolves, Vegeta is a vampire, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23908714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalBlueRoses/pseuds/RoyalBlueRoses
Summary: Based off Bram Stoker's Dracula. When Yamcha Harker leaves London to do buisness with the eccentric Count Vegeta, his fiancee Bulma is left to wonder when she will ever see him again, and where has her friend Launch gone with the mysterious Texan man with a tail? They are then trapped in the sights of the Vaiyan-Hunter named Gokuseppe Van Helsing, who later finds out from a man from a future that perhaps these Vaiyans are more than meets the eye.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Bulma Briefs/Yamcha, Launch & Piccolo (Dragon Ball), Launch/Raditz (Dragon Ball), Launch/Tenshinhan (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 31





	1. May 1st - 5th

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Velcome to my lair. This will be a fanfiction based in Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992), an American gothic horror film directed and produced by Francis Ford Coppola, based on the 1897 novel Dracula by Bram Stoker.
> 
> I am using both the movie, and the classic novel, Dracula for my original source material.
> 
> The characters of Dragon Ball Z will be cast as their respective counterparts. I do not own Dragon Ball Z or Dracula. Both works belong to their respective owners, Akira Toriyama, Francis Ford Coppola and Bram Stoker.
> 
> Also, this will not go quite as the original Dracula film did. I am a big fan of the film, and I thought it would be fun to have our favorite characters thrust into a very... different universe. The first chapter will begin much like the movie, with many alterations to suit DBZ history, then after that, things may begin to become altered...
> 
> Cast:
> 
> Prince Vegeta IV as Count Dracula
> 
> Bulma, Bulesabetha as 'Wilhelmina' Mina Harker
> 
> Yamcha as Johnathan Harker
> 
> Master Roshi as Yamcha's Employer
> 
> Krillin as Renfield
> 
> Launch as Lucy Westerna
> 
> Tien as Dr. John Seward
> 
> Raditz as Quincey Morris, The Driver
> 
> Piccolo as Arthur Holmwood
> 
> Gokuseppe/Goku Abraham Van Helsing
> 
> Goku / Van Helsing also as
> 
> The Narrator which shall be in italics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: 6/16 New Scene added!
> 
> Hello. Velcome to my lair. This will be a fanfiction based on Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) using both the movie, and the classic novel, Dracula for my original source material.The characters of Dragon Ball Z will be cast as their respective counterparts. I do not own Dragon Ball Z or Dracula. All works belong to their respective owners, Akira Toriyama, Francis Ford Coppola and Bram Stoker.
> 
> Also, this will not go quite as the original Dracula film did. I am a big fan of the film, and I thought it would be fun to have our favorite characters thrust into a very... different universe. The first chapter will begin much like the movie, with many alterations to suit DBZ history, then after that, things may begin to become altered...
> 
> Cast :
> 
> Prince Vegeta IV as Count Dracula
> 
> Bulma, Bulesabetha as 'Wilhelmina' Mina Harker
> 
> Yamcha as Johnathan Harker
> 
> Master Roshi as Yamcha's Employer
> 
> Krillin as Renfield
> 
> Launch as Lucy Westerna
> 
> Tien as Dr. John Seward
> 
> Raditz as Quincey Morris, The Driver
> 
> Piccolo as Arthur Holmwood
> 
> Goku as Abraham Van Helsing

_The Vaiyan crest, with its three sharp prongs, casts a shadow over a tattered map of the annexed Empire of Trufflomania._

_**732**. The Birth of Vegeta IV. Son of Tsar Vegeta, and his Tsarina, Vasenya._

_**737**. Invasion of the Frieza Empire. Tsar Vegeta _ _and Vasenya, murdered by their own Elite Guards; who had committed treason in the name of Lord Frieza._

_**752**. The Genocide of The Vaiyan People._

_The Freiza race come to take what is their payment; the last remaining band of Vaiyans, holed up in their castle in fear._

_From Trufflesylvania rose a Vaiyan Prince, who known throughout Eastern Europe for his bloodthirsty ways- leads 7,000 of his countrymen in a bold, pre-dawn attack against 30,000 Truffles. He hailed from the sacred order of the Ōozaru, known as Vraculya..._

Vegeta lowered his helm, revealing his flame of raven-black hair. Vrincess Bulesabetha stared at him; her azure curls like a halo around the jagged crown of Ancient Vsadala. He looked down to her, and they kissed. Hungrily, as if they would never taste one another's lips again.

_On the eve of battle, his bride, Bulesabetha, whom he prized above all things on Earth; knew that he must face an insurmountable force, from which he might never return._

Vegeta turned away from her as she cried, squeezing his eyes shut, he looked to her once more, and she sobbed as they said their last goodbye, stroking one hand through her azure curls. He looked to her with an intensity in his eyes, as the heavy dirge of the ancient Vaiyan Race thrummed within him, and crescendoed, and the doors of the castle were thrust open; revealing the enemy flags of the invaders, and he rushed into battle, his long, brown tail, lashing at his back.

_The Truffles had fallen, their home, invaded; but it was their last vengeful act to attack the Vaiyans with the power of the Entire Frieza Empire._

The jagged outcrop from which they hid, was back washed in the eerie luminescence of the full moon, as Prince Vegeta and Raditz came onto the battlefield, wearing the snarling, red helmets of their angered primate god. They fought bravely, as the last of the Vaiyan army collapsed around them, they impaled the lizard-kind on pikes; earning Vegeta the III his legendary title, Vegeta The Impaler. The foul creatures shrieked, and struggled to stop the lances forcing their way through their putrid bellies, with a hot spray of blood. One last victim languished on a pike, it's white tail wrapping around the spear and attempting to stop the spear from slowly penetrating through its back.

There was a shout, as Raditz stood atop the hill, and tossed his helmet to the ground, panting as he laughed.

"Brother, My Prince! The Truffles have retreated! They've fallen back! They've all been defeated!" He said, and turned to Vegeta, who nodded, and looked across the desolate battlefield, which was now empty, but for the corpses hung like trophies all around them.

Prince Vegeta removed his Ōozaru helmet, his flame of raven black hair revealed, as perspiration ran from his temples in rivers, and he curled his lip back, screaming for all to hear.

"Vsadala be praised, I am _Victorious...!"_ The Vaiyan warrior announced to the dead, Raditz stood beside him, his long, wild mane lashing on the acrid heat.

One last lizard kind squawked, from where it struggled on the lance, clawing to free itself from its imminent death. It seethed, hissing at Vegeta as he approached it.

"One day, we will return... and we will kill all Vaiyans..." It hacked, spitting out magneta blood from its black lips.

"That's where you're wrong." Vegeta growled, clenching his teeth.

"Brother... Haven't enough died on this day..?" Raditz whispered, then flinched, as Vegeta pulled a sword from his belt, and stabbed the foul creature in the jugular, twisting the blade around until the sinew, and wiry tendons crunched.

"Let this be a message, to all who dare defy the Empire of Vegeta." He said cruelly, then dropped the blade quickly as if stung, and stared at his own bloodied white gloves.

"We're the only Vaiyans left. All is lost. But we have won the battle... Our home." Raditz said, and cried as he stared over the great mounds of bodies littering the horizon. Wolves cried out from below the valley, and Vegeta shivered, hearing their cries.

"Bulesabetha..." Vegeta whispered, his eyes wide with terror. He turned; sensing something was wrong.

_The Vengeful Truffles had shot an arrow into the castle, carrying false news of Vegeta's death, and the Vrincess Bulesabetha, believing him dead, flung herself into the river._

Bulesabetha runs up to the highest tower of Castle Vegeta, her black mourning gown gathered in her pale fists. She stands before the dark, maroon sky, the blood red river, far below. Her body loses its strength, and she takes the long plunge to her death.

The old wooden doors creak, as they open, and Vegeta stands still, his brow lowered to the floor as the torch lights cast shadows across his chiseled features. His breath comes out in shaking, rapid pants, as he approaches the altar where Vrincess Bulesabetha lies, a single trail of blood dripping down her white cheek. Her cheeks are pallid, as he strokes back the soft ringlets surrounding her heart-shaped face. He notices a letter spotted with blood still clutched in her hands, and reads it.

_To all who must know,_

_My Prince is dead._

_All is lost without him._

_May the gods unite us in heaven._

Vegeta squeezes his eyes shut, and screams with agony. The Priest, with spikes of black hair making six prongs around his skull, steps forward.

"Her soul cannot be saved. She is damned. It is God's Law." He says haltingly in the Vaiyan tongue, the Crest of Vegeta held close over his breast as he steps forward, casting the pronged shadow onto Bulesabetha's powdery, pale countenance; only made more stark by the thick slash of blood dripping from the corner of her dusky rose, dead lips.

"Is this my reward for defending this so-called _'God's Church' ?!"_ Vegeta bellowed, his energy rushing out around him.

 _"Sacrilege!"_ Bardock hissed, the other priests flocked to his sides and began chanting, holding out the crest to defend themselves.

"I _renounce_ God!" Vegeta bellows, tossing his head back to scream in their guttural language, towards the tall chapel ceiling. He lowers his face, grinning sadistically, and hisses,

"...I shall rise from my own death...To avenge hers _with all the powers of **darkness**!" _He seethes, and lashes out, surging forth to clutch Bardock's staff, then takes it, then plunges the prongs into his chest, and he falls. He pulls the trident out, and the others fall back, frightened. He slashes the throat of Paragus, then eviscerates the bowels of the last remaining priest, before turning, and staring up at the large effigy of Vegeta, he tosses the trident into the center of the emblem, from which, a torrent of blood seeps out.

He stumbles forward, over the fallen bodies and grasps a goblet, and allows the blood flowing forth to fill his cup. Blood oozes from the eyes of all the statues as he growls, animalistic, and utters; guttural, "The blood is the life... and it shall be mine!" With tears falling down his sharp, angular cheeks, he cradles the goblet in his hands, and drinks.

A growing lake of blood oozes across the floor, to where Bulesabetha lies, and washes down the altar in a flood, as he stumbles backwards, dropping the goblet. A siren's song rings out around him as the souls of the dead priests curse him with their rhythmic chant, and he looks upon his work with horror, and roars, falling to his knees as a wave of power rushes all throughout his body.

* * *

**London, 1897 Centuries Later.** **Carnifax District, Lunatic Asylum.**

A man sits, crouched in the corner of a padded cell, wearing a tattered suit. He stares up at the ceiling as if something is there, intently focused on whatever it is he sees, as a fly buzzes in the air above him.

"I've done everything that you asked, Master... All the preparations are in order, everything for your honor. I know that when the rewards are given, I will benefit from your generosity."

Krillin snatches the fly from above, and holds it between his fingers which are caged by a protective glove to keep him from scratching himself, and bites into the flies' hard exterior, crunching as he breathes raggedly, "Mm...Thank you..." And backs himself back into his small corner, sitting and eagerly grasping his prize, still gazing up at the ceiling in reverence.

* * *

"Gone mad. Krillin is deranged, he's lost his greedy mind, poor chap." Roshi says, strolling up to his wooden desk where Yamcha sits in a plush, upholstered chair. "...I want you to take over for him, with the foreign client, this er, rather eccentric Count Vegeta. He's buying up property all around London." Roshi states, his palms flat on the desk.

"Of course, I'll take care of Count Vegeta. Thank you for your confidence, Master Roshi." He says politely, to which the old man smiles and hands him a bound notebook.

"This is a great opportunity for you, Harker!" He says, handing him the book. Yamcha takes it, looking down. His ear length black hair is parted down the middle, tucked, behind his ears. He wears a soft black suit, with white cross hatching.

"You'll have to leave for Trufflesylvania immediately," Roshi said. Yamcha looked up, startled. "Opportunities like this come but once in a lifetime."

Yamcha smiled, relenting.

"Yes, of course, sir." Then, he paused.

"...If I may, what _actually_ happened to Mr. Krillin in Trufflesylvania..?"

Master Roshi paused, his eyes darting behind his spectacles.

"Eh, nothing... nothing... heh heh. Personal problems." He nodded, and Yamcha looked on, a dreadful expression paling his features.

"...Close these transactions, and your future with this firm is assured."

"Yes, sir. I'll give it my all!" He said, and gathered up the paperwork, standing.

* * *

1st May. Bulma's Diary.

I arrived today at Launch's, where I shall be vacationing off and on for some weeks, until Yamcha and I can be married. I truly miss my good friend, I've longed to be with her, and tell tall tales, and escape from reality. The life of a school mistress can be very trying, and I've been working very hard lately. I've decided I shall keep a diary, a sort of journal to keep track of the goings on of my life, as I suppose most lady journalists do. This probably will not interest others not so inclined, but it is not intended for them _._

"Oh! How _awful!"_ Bulma exclaims, as the type writer's keys have jammed, and she's taken to reading the copy of Arabian Nights on the desk, given to her by Launch.

"Mina...?" A demure voice says from behind her, as Bulma jumps, slamming the book closed. The blue-haired Launch giggles, twirling one hand around the lacy frock of her yellow dress, as she strolls over and opens the balcony windows.

"Oh, you! Is Yamcha making you learn how to use that terrible machine? You know, he could be teaching you other more _romantic_ acts on the parlour floor..." She sighs, then sniffs a flower from the vine curling around the balcony lattice.

"Ah...ah.. choo!" She sneezes delicately, and Bulma shakes her head, grinning as Launch is transformed into her other form- blonde, buxom, brash and mean. Bulma sighs, knowing that even as Launch adjusts to her new hair color, really she is just the same, if not of a slightly more exaggerated personality.

 _"Really,_ Launch... you shouldn't talk about Yamcha that way, you know there's more to love them just things of a _carnal..._ nature." Bulma huffed, standing up quickly. The concealed book falls, opening up wide to reveal a erotic etching.

"Hehe... So I see... So much more.." Launch sneers, her hands on her hips, not concealing her gratuitous cleavage as she bends to pick up the book, and they both flock to get a good look at what's on the page. Both girls burst out in giddy laughter, as Launch turns the pages, and they both sigh.

"Oh my god, is that... _size_ natural for a man?" Bulma says, her hand to her blushing cheek as Launch tilts her head to get a better look.

"I've seen bigga'." She snorts, and Bulma pushes her. Launch chuckles, and gestures with her hands just how big, as Bulma shakes her head in disbelief.

"Can a man and woman... really do.. such _vulgar_ things?" Bulma whispers, and Launch fans her chest with the book.

"Heh, I did, oh... just last night." She brags, fluttering her lashes over stunning emerald green eyes. Launch strikes a pose similar to the one in the etching, and Bulma blushes bright red.

"...Well. In my dreams." Launch mutters, and they both burst out into giddy laughter once again.

"Oh! I almost forgot! I hafta tell you the great news!" Launch exclaimed, and Bulma looked on, smiling.

A tall man walks into the parlour, nervously turning a wide brimmed hat in his large hands. He wears an entirely western getup, black leather chaps over blue jeans, a flash of a beaded belt beneath his black waist coat.

Launch and Bulma walk through the halls, whispering.

"Do tell, what's this news?" Bulma says, following close behind Launch.

"A Texan."

They sneak up to a large door, and peek through the peephole. Bulma gawks, practically drooling, as Launch is fretting, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger.

"His name is Raditz Quincey Morris... Oh, he's so strong and so handsome! He's like a wild stallion between my legs!" She purrs, and Bulma giggles.

"You are positively smitten! And immoral, at that!" She gushes, making Launch blush.

"Uh.. uhuh... He just p-proposed!" She sputtered, and Bulma looked her over with suspicion.

"Do I even want to know what?" She said, flatly.

"M-Marriage! That makes 2 proposals in one day. I'm hopin' for 3. I'm so freakin' happy I dunno what to do with myself! I hope there's enough a' me to go around!"

She giggles, coquettish, primping her shiny blonde curls in the hallway mirror. Bulma tends to Launch's hair, burning with jealousy.

"...Who was number one? That tall, green, pointy eared man at the concert?" She asks dubiously, confused by Launch's odd taste in otherworldly men, but she herself was a changeling anyway.

"Oh, that's suitor number 3. No, Doctor Tien Shinhan is number one! Why, he would just do it for you, if you weren't already taken! He owns a huge lunatic Asylum, all to himself!" She giggled.

"Lunatics?! And the first thing you thought of was me?!" Bulma steamed, making Launch cackle uproariously. Bulma felt the intense urge to strangle her with her own hair all the sudden.

"Well, you can't marry all _three!"_ She exclaimed, and Launch pouted.

"Why not! They're all so charming! As long as they all want me, I can handle three men, easy!" She said, puffing out her chest.

"I don't doubt it, you terrible flirt!" Bulma said, exasperated. Launch pulled down her corset and bared her bulging cleavage, preening in the mirror.

"I just know what men want, they're all just sweet little boys on the inside, looking for some candy. What they really want is simple, and that's to take a ride on your merry go round...Just watch." Launch said, and flitted past Bulma through the door, as Bulma approached the keyhole, her eyes wide, she can't help herself but sneak a peek, as Launch saunters over slowly to the texan.

"Oh, Raditz.. please let me touch it... Its so big.." Launch purrs, leaning down and stroking the crotch of his pants. He grins, and pulls out a large Bowie knife for her to see. She strokes the sheath of it seductively, and he watches, a rapt observer.

"Raditz... you're so sweet, honey...but, I'm afraid there's someone else I love." She says softly, and he nods, accepting defeat. He extends his hand, for the ring. Launch grabs his hand and pulls it to her breast, and squeezes his hand around it. He growls, and drops his hat, pushing her down onto the sofa until all Bulma sees is her high heeled shoe in the air as she moans, and his forgotten hat rolling across the floor, the flick of something brown catching her eye just a moment, before a servant speaks, and startles her out of her voyeuristic perversion.

"Ms. Murray?" They say, and she whirls around quickly, her cheeks pink.

"You have... a visitor. Mr. Yamcha Harker." The servant says flatly, with displeasure.

Bulma nods, flustered, and runs away. The servant waits until noone is looking, then sneaks a peek through the peephole.

* * *

Outside the Westerna estate, wild peacocks stroll freely, making loud mating cries as they fan their extravagant tail feathers. Yamcha whirls around to greet her, with a fan of peacock feathers in his hands, as he peeks through it playfully.

"Yamcha? I didn't expect you here. Are you... _drunk_ _in the middle_ of the day?!" She growls, crossing her arms over her well buttoned up chest, hiding her generous assets.

Yamcha sniffs, twirling around, and shrugs.

"Eh, why not? If you want, I can buy you an estate just like Launch's someday. Maybe you'd fancy a castle... My Bulma won't be just the mousy little school teacher, who can only get a taste of the good life by visiting her stuffy friends!" He blurted out, then hiccups, his cheeks red.

"You ARE drunk!" She screams, and he laughs. "With _success!_ Bulma, you've got it made now! You're engaged to the one and only future partner in the firm!"

Bulma chuckles happily, and flings herself into his arms, kissing his cheek, and takes a peacock feather, and tickles his neck with it, trying to be flirtatious like Launch. Yamcha's cheeks redden, and he backs away, holding her arms gently to avoid revealing his excitement towards her.

"Bulma, listen. Krillin is out, he totally lost his mind with greed. I'm taking his lofty seat in the upper office! But, it won't be official til' I get back. I have to go to Eastern Europe-"

"You're _leaving? Now!?"_ She moaned, disappointed.

"It'll only be for a few weeks! This wealthy count is acquiring estates all around London. Money is no object! Extraordinary! Can you imagine being that rich? And _yours truly_ is being sent to close on the deal! Can you believe it, Bulma, _**Royalty**!_ _**Think**!"_ He said, clearly inebriated with his excitement, and she patted his shoulders, pulling him out of it.

" _Think?_ What I'm _thinking_ about is our wedding." She said, blinking up at him.

"Don't worry! Bulma, this is the opportunity that comes only once in a lifetime! We'll get married once I return, a _huge_ wedding! Whatever your heart desires! We'll be the talk of London."

Bulma nods, not quite placated.

"Of course, we've waited this long, haven't we?" She sighed, pulling at his sleeve. He pulls her into her arms, holding her up above him as he smiles.

"There's no other girl like you, Bulma. I'm doing this to make us rich, I want to give you everything she's got and more. You mean everything to me, Bulma. Isn't this what you want?"

Bulma bites her lip, squirming.

"I just want us to be happy, Yamcha."

"We will be. Don't worry those pretty sapphire eyes, Bulma. I'll write."

She pulled him down to sit, sighing as she kissed him desperately, and he embraced her, holding her around her small corseted waist as they kissed, amongst the susurrations of leaves rustling in the cool garden, and the soft birdsong above. A lullaby tune plays them off, then the blowing of a steam train whistle thunders as it descends the arch of a dark tunnel, and reveals the crimson sky, and the dark forest beyond.

* * *

Yamcha sits in the luxurious train car, staring out the window with his log lying across his lap.

Yamcha Harker's Journal.

May 3rd, I left Munich at 8:35 PM, on the 1st of May, arriving in Vienna early the next morning. I should have arrived at 6:46, but the carriage was an hour late. Budapest seems like a wonderful place, from what I saw at the station. The impression I had was that we were entering the west, and leaving the east, over the beautiful river Danube.

We left in good time, and arrived at Klausenburgh at nightfall. I stayed at the Hotel Royale, thankfully I know a small amount of German, so that helped. I had an interesting dinner there, made with red pepper and some type of paprika. I'll have to write down the recipe for Mrs. Briefs. I'm sure she would love a taste of culture. I didn't sleep well though, the bed was very uncomfortable, and I had all kinds of odd dreams, not to mention a dog was howling at the moon all night right by my window. I was also really thirsty, so I had to get up multiple times and have a drink of water, I'm guessing that was from the paprika, but I could have sworn I heard an odd tapping at my door at 3am.

Before I left London, I asked at the British museum back home if they had any maps, or records of Trufflesylvania, but I was unable to find any exact records on the location of Castle Vegeta. I find that _very_ strange, you would think that some knowledge about the country I'm visiting _would_ be nice when I'm dealing with the noble of that country, but I suppose I'll just have to see if the count can address my questions.

The district I'm about to enter is in the very east, just on the border of three states, Trufflesylvania, Moldavia, and Bukovina. In the middle of the Carpathian Mountains, one of the world's most wildest and least known portions of Europe. To say I feel like a stranger in their land, is an understatement.

Yamcha set his pen on his notebook and watched out the window, as the landscape slowly began to darken into twilight, as they entered the town of Bistritz. It was a very old town, on the frontier of Borgos Pass. which led into Bukovina. The pass had a very stormy past, and it certainly shows the marks of it, by the great scars, and deep craters in the earth. At the very beginning of the 700th century, it underwent a terrible siege for three weeks, and lost 13,000 people. Of the casualties, many were lost from war and disease as well.

He soon entered the outskirts of Borgos, where Count Vegeta had directed him to go to the Golden Krone Hotel. Yamcha was delighted, as he set his bags down and looked all around at the cozy little cottage. A sweet little old peasant lady greeted him at the door, along with a letter from himself, the count.

"Herr Englishman?" She asked, her pudgy, calloused hands clasped before her vast apron.

"Yes, I'm Yamcha Harker." He said, and she nodded enthusiastically, and led him inside to his room. Yamcha sat down on the bed, and opened the letter.

_My Friend,_

_Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting your arrival. Make sure to rest well tonight. At three tomorrow, my carriage will await you at the Borgo Pass, and bring you to me. I trust that your journey from London has been a safe one, and that you will appreciate your stay in my beautiful land._

- _Your Friend, Vegeta._

He smiled, having a good feeling about meeting the count, then blew out the candle beside his bed, and laid down to sleep.

4th, May.

I found out that my landlord got another letter from the count, this one telling them to make sure I have the best seat there. When I asked for more details, the landlord seemed very hesitant to answer, and suddenly acted like he couldn't understand my German, even though they had complimented me on my grasp of the language just the night before! When I asked his wife, she acted as if she were scared of me, and she ran to her husband, and he finally admitted to me that the count had sent money with the letter, that's all he knew. When I asked him what he knew about Count Vegeta, they did the sign of the cross and insisted that they knew nothing, and not to ask them anything else.

Yamcha packed his bags, angrily stuffing his clothes inside, storming downstairs. The old lady stopped him at the end of the stairs, suddenly frantic.

"Oh, young Herr Yamcha! Are you sure you must leave tonight? Why not stay, just a few more days!" She blurted out, her German so slurred together with another language in her fear, that he could barely understand her.

"I have to go at once, I have some very important business I have to attend to."

"Don't you know what day it is?" She asked, and Yamcha furrowed his brow at her.

"It's the 4th of course, why?"

"Oh, I know it's the fourth, but that's not what I'm saying!" She insisted, and shook him by the shoulders. Yamcha patted the woman on the hands and tried to calm her down, sitting down with her.

"Ok, let's go over this again, I'm not sure what you mean." He said, and the woman began to ramble on and on, making Yamcha raise one brow as he listened.

"It's the Eve of St. George's Day, haven't you ever heard that when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in this world will have full sway? Don't you understand where you're going, and what that path will lead you to?"

Yamcha listened, feeling puzzled, and attempted to calm the woman who was growing more anxious once again, before she fell into hysterics and he simply gave up, standing and gathering up his belongings.

"I'm very sorry, but I have to go! This job is really important to me, and I just can't afford to be late!" He said, and began to leave. Before he left, the woman gave him a rosary and put it around his neck, saying "For your mother's sake!"

Yamcha found it odd, but he thanked her, and left.

I'm writing this as I leave the coach, which of course now is later than I wanted to. I'm still wearing the crucifix, and honestly, I don't know if it's just the old lady getting to me, or if I really am getting some bad vibes from this place. If what she said is true, give Bulma this book, and tell her I said goodbye, and that I love her more than anything in the world. Alright, I gotta go! Here comes the coach!


	2. 5th May- The Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Friends. Thank you for waiting for this story to fall into my writing rotation once again. I have a delightful tale to tell, half whimsy, half flattery for the beautiful writing of Bram Stoker, which I've taken the liberty to condense into a more modern summary, to which I hope you'll all enjoy. I suggest you sit down, relax, and perhaps drink a nice glass of red wine, and listen to "Love Song For a Vampire" by Annie Lenox while you read. Until our paths cross again. Enjoy.

The Victorian house stood strong against the current, as rain came down in sheets outside the small window with the curtains parted to let in the soft, mottled light, the droplets on the windowpane casting shadows across her pale face as Bulma sat at her desk, a small smile on her lips as she stroked a framed photo of Yamcha, with a wistful expression, before setting it down, and typing on her typewriter.

May 5th. Dear Diary,

Yamcha has only been gone a few days, and yet it seems like weeks. Although I'm a bit disappointed we couldn't get married before he left, I am happy he's been sent on this important assignment, I can't wait to hear all the news! It must be so fun to travel through strange countries, I wonder If I-I mean, we; Yamcha and I, shall ever see them together..?

She wrote, then sighed, and gazed out the window, the dripping rain on the glass washing her in dark grey, with shadowy trails seeming to drip down her face like tears.

* * *

Yamcha looks out the curtain of the coach, seeing the same dreary grey sky, over the steep mountains of Mittle Land.

5th May.

The grey of morning has passed, and the sun is high over the jagged horizon, with the sharp peaks of mountains and conifer trees. I feel wide awake, and that's why I'm writing. I'm so anxious about being called to get off that I can't sleep, so I'm just going to write for now until I get sleepy. There's so many odd things that have happened today, I'm not sure I can keep track of them all.

Before I left Biztriz, I had a nice dinner called "Robber's Steak", which was bits of bacon, onion and beef with red pepper, strung on sticks and roasted over the fire, in the simple style of good old London "Cat's-Meat!" Back in the 1800s, when street sellers would serve strips of horse meat to the thousands of stray cats populating London at the time, shouting "Meat, meat!" for the cats, who would come running! I find that so funny, it makes me smile and think of Purr back home with Bulma. I also had some white wine, called Golden Mediasch, which was so strong it burned going down, I had a few glasses of that, and nothing else to drink.

When I got on the coach, the driver hadn't taken his seat yet, and I saw him talking to the landlady. They kept glancing at me as they talked, and the other people in the coach that could hear, kept looking over at me as if they pitied me. From what I could tell, they repeated a few odd words, in many different languages, but from what I read in my Polyglot dictionary, the most common words were "Ordog" -Satan, "pokol" - hell, "Vrolock" and "Vlkoslak", which both are words for "vampire" or "were-wolf."

_(Note: Ask the count about these superstitions)_

Before we started on our journey, the large crowd around the inn door had made the sign of the cross and pointed two fingers at me, which I later learned after asking a fellow passenger, was a charm, a type of guard against the evil eye. This made me feel really uncomfortable, being I'm on my way to an unknown place, to meet an unknown man; but everyone seemed so kind hearted that it was hard to stay mad. I do feel kind of touched that they wanted to protect me.

I'll never forget the last glimpse I had of the inn-yard, and its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossing themselves, as they stood around the wide archway, with its background of rich foliage of oleander and orange trees, clustered in the centre of the yard. Then, the driver cracked the whip, making the four horses take off, and we started on our journey.

* * *

The rain wasn't seeming to let up at all, as Bulma gazed out the window, closing the curtain. She turned away, smoothing her hands over her powder blue house dress, the soft cotton flowing over her long legs as she strolled downstairs, a little pep in her step making her blue curls bounce.

"Oh, darling! Don't you just love the charming pitter-pat of rain?" Her mother, Panchy said, twirling on her heels, her bright orange scoop neck dress with a ruffled blue bell skirt almost garish for the dull day that it was.

"Hi Momma! Oh, I dunno, doesn't it make you feel sort of melancholy?" Bulma sighed, and the two women walked into the kitchen, her mother reaching for the white China teapot whistling away.

"Care for some tea, sweetie?" She said, and Bulma nodded, and sat down on the velvet chaise sofa that stretched alongside the wide picture windows. She smiled when their small blue cat, Purr hopped up into her lap, and curled into a ball, as she stroked him.

Panchy came out with a tray of goodies, and caught the attention of her husband, 'Mad' Dr. Murray as they all liked to call him around the lab, _(Well, not her or Bulma, but all his associates did)_

"Good day for ducks!" He said, with a soft puff of his corncob pipe, and sat in the rocking chair besides Bulma, his old black cat, Scratch peering from over his shoulder with its large, yellow eyes.

"Papa! I've missed you! Where have you been all day?"

"Oh, tinkering with this and that, sassyfrass. Don't mind if I do!" He said, and took some tea biscuits. Panchy sat down, tittering gaily.

"You and your silly gadgets, Chaps darling! Why don't we have one of your stories!" Panchy giggled, clapping her hands covered in lacy white gloves.

"Yeah, how about it, Papa? I could really use something to take my mind off Yamcha, have a spooky story for us?" Bulma said excitedly, her hands clasped around her chin, as he shook his head of lilac hair and took off his tattered hat.

"Ah, let's see... Something spooky, eh?"

"Goodness, nothing _too_ scary! It's days like this, I'm scared to look out the window at night!" Panchy said with a frightened shiver, and scooched closer to Bulma, holding her daughter's hand.

"...Alright, I'll tell you a story, this one is about the Count of Carpathia, let's call him... _Dracula."_ Dr. Murray said, with a thick cloud of pipe smoke curling out from below his white mustache, as the two women listened, with bated breath, the slow creak of his rocking chair was the only sound as he took a long intake of breath.

"Long, long ago, there was a man who lived all alone in a great big castle, who though he had all he could ever ask for, gold, jewels, all the maidens of Trufflesylvania ready to take his hand; he was _never happy._ No, this "Dracula", was not from that land, he was an invader turned Tsar from a far-off land, called Vsalada, from which they came in hordes, their black ships flooding across the sea like a spill of ink, every drop, _poison!_ Every now and then, when a neighboring country would try and join with his land, they would bring him their daughter, hoping that he would take her hand, but instead, each and every princess that entered the castle, was _never_ _seen,_ nor heard from _again!_

It wasn't until he crossed paths with my great-great-grandfather, good old Dr. Drewers Murray, that he had relief from his... _Widower's Syndrome,_ which is when a man loses his beloved, and it causes a rather _unfortunate_ effect on the man's libido..."

" _Chaps!_ Watch your language, Bulma's a young lady, yet!" Panchy reprimanded, swatting at him with her glove. Bulma giggled, "Go on, Papa. I can handle it! What did great-great grampa do to cure him?"

"Well, alright then. Drewers was a scientist like me, you see...? He was so adept, in fact, it was rumored he was able to reanimate the dead, to bring back his beloved _corpse bride!-"_

" _Ahhh! **Not** the Bride of F-Frankenstein!"_ Panchy squealed, flinching back, her hot tea splashing on the floor as Bulma patted her shoulder.

"It's alright, Momma! It's just a silly story!" She said, patting her mother's back.

" _No,_ I told him **no** scary stories! I'm _s-scared!"_ She sobbed, covering her eyes. Bulma stood, and walked her mother to the other room to go lie down, closing the curtains. "Get some rest, it'll be okay..."

She whispered, kissing her forehead, then came out cautiously to the lounge room, where her father sparked his pipe, taking a deep inhale of his pipe tobacco, the dried leaf cracking in the dark, as a bolt of lightning flashed with a heavy rumble of thunder, lighting the room up white for just a moment.

"Come here, Bulamina, sit on my knee." He said with a smile, patting his lap.

"Papa, I'm too big! I'm nearly twenty seven, silly!" She giggled, walking over with her hands on her hips.

"Pah, you're still my daughter. And I know, my little girl loves a good story by the fire, and where better to sit and entertain her eccentric old coot of a father?" He said with a chuckle, and Bulma sighed, sitting down carefully, leaning against his chest as she stared into the fire.

"Ok, tell me, what happened to Dracula and his dear departed wife...? Did Grampa Drewers _really_ bring her to life, or is this all just a tall tale? You've been telling me this story since before I can remember, Papa, can you _please_ tell me the truth now that Momma is gone?" Bulma insisted, turning her head and pouting at her father as he puffed on his pipe.

"Well, that story is the one my father told me, and his father before him... you know, curiosity **is** what killed the cat, Bulma my dear..." With that, he rubbed his cat's ear, and mused with a low hum in his throat.

"The time was 1791. Dr. Drewers invented something we called the "Drewer's-Coil" . It was an electrical resonant transformer that could take electricity from the sky, and draw it inside, into one controlled electromagnetic field. You should be familiar with this invention, it's down in my lab. It's inferior to what we have today, but it was said that with this invention, with all the power given to him by the hands of Zeus, he believed himself a necromancer, after successfully reanimating cats, dogs, things of that nature.

Word spread, and many wished to have an audience with Drewers; but none captivated him like the Count. The Count told a terrible story of his drowned love, and offered to pay him _very_ handsomely. Why, why do you think we have this grand estate? She was perfect. Not a single laceration marred her preserved body, she was an Incorruptible; a holy sign from the gods of one not affected by decay; for his bride Bulesabetha was **so** pure of heart, she became a Saint."

Bulma gasped, her eyes wide as she heard the tale, and shivered.

"Yes... you heard right, Bulamina. She shared a common name like yours. She was said to be one of the _most beautiful_ specimens he had ever laid eyes on, kept safe, encased in a glass coffin kept devoid of any air, or moisture, and so unbearably cold, that she was frozen solid. She was the perfect subject, she was said to be so beautiful through the glass, with snowflake shatter-cracks a mask over her pale skin, like fragile crystal.

So, they removed her from her chamber, and laid her before a warm fire, and as they watched, she slowly became warm, and wet as he prepared her for her reanimation. They took to the highest spire, and coiled wire after wire, to all alight with a white hot fire, and bring her back from the dead, the Prince's one true desire. And so, they waited, until the clock struck midnight, and all through the castle, all was afright, as the Princess Bulesabetha was struck by the God's Light." He said, and sighed, with a long puff of his pipe.

Bulma gulped, taking her tea cup off the table with a shaky hand. She sipped, regaining her composure, then patted her father on the shoulder to rouse him from a short nap. Chaps was startled, and his cat yowled, running off his shoulder, then screeching when the lightning crashed, and cast its frightened shadow across the floor.

"So, Papa, what happened?"

"She was toast, fried up like yesterday's breakfast!" He chuckled, bouncing her on his knee, and Bulma got up quickly, swatting him across the shoulder.

"You're a liar! I _know_ that's not what happened, it couldn't be!" She accused, then froze in place, feeling her cheek where a single tear was trickling down.

"...No, sweetie. It's...just not wise to say. You know, it's the Eve of Saint George's Day."

"But, it's not April, Papa. _April 23rd's_ when we celebrate St. George, why, he was the Prince who saved the princess, and slayed the dragon that was holding her captive.." She began, smiling as she batted her eyes at the dreamy image.

"No, sweet sassyfrass, in other parts of the world, the Sixth of May on the Gregorian Calendar is known as _Đurđevdan_ , The Feast of Saint George. _Beware_ , when the clock strikes midnight, all evil things in the world will have full sway..." He said, and cackled, rocking madly in his chair, and Bulma slowly backed away from her father, her azure orbs catching the ethereal light of the summer storm and capturing the tears threatening to burst free, as she ran, and retreated to her room.

* * *

Yamcha Harker's Journal.

We left Biztriz early this morning, the traverse through the picturesque Mittel Land took all of daylight, now the sweet rolling hills of the countryside give way, the fragrance of fruit blossoms still lingers in my nostrils as I felt the path become craggy, the air, carried a chill in it as we approached the steps of the Carpathians themselves. Right and left they towered, with the afternoon sun falling upon them and bringing out all the glorious colors of the beautiful mountain range, deep blue, and purple in the shadows of the peaks, green and brown where grass and rock mingled; an endless perspective of jagged rocks and pointed crags, til these themselves were lost in the distance, where snowy peaks rose. Here and there, there seemed great cleaved rifts in the mountains, through which, as the sun began to sink, we saw a fleeting glimpse of the white gleam of falling water.

One of my companions touched my arm as we rode up the hill, and pointed, "Look! God's Seat!" He cried, and crossed himself to the image of the lofty, snow covered peak that was so massive it seemed to be approaching us. As we wound about the endless path, the sun sank lower, and the delicate tufts of snow still held it's warmth, with a delicate pink glow.

By the roadside, I noticed many wood and iron crosses, where people dressed in their native garments all crossed themselves before us as we passed. Here and there, a peasant man or woman kneels before a shrine, but they were _so_ devout, and determined in their prayers, it seemed they had neither eyes, nor ears to take heed of the outside world passing them by.

As evening fell it began to become very cold, and the growing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness, a hanging gloom within the branches of trees, oak, beech, and pine, through in the valleys which ran deep between the spurs of hills, as we ascended through The Pass, the dark fire stood out, curling against the starkness of late fallen snow.

Sometimes, as we cut through the pine lined road, the darkness seemed to be closing down upon us, in great grayish masses, lying in the low bows of trees. Sometimes the hills were so steep, despite the driver's haste, the horses could only go slowly. I wanted to get up and go walk up them, as we do at home, but the driver said "No, no, you musnt walk here. The dogs are too fierce." And then he added, as some kind of grim pleasantry, "You may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep."

The only stop he made was a moment's pause to light his lamps.

When it grew dark, the air was heavy with anticipation, as the other passengers became excited, and kept urging him to go faster. He lashed the horses unmercifully with his long whip, screaming wildly with encouragement to urge them on, despite the poor horse's exertion. Through the darkness I could see a patch of grey light, as though there were a cleft in the hills. The anxiety of the other passengers grew; the crazed coach rocking on it's leather springs, like a boat being tossed on a tumultuous sea. I held on tight to what I could, as we appeared to almost be flying at our great speed.

The mountains came ever closer, and loomed around on each side, we had at last entered the Borgo Pass. One by one passengers offered me gifts; which they pressed upon me, even though I refused. They were certainly odd, but each was given to me with a blessing, and the ward against the evil eye, which I thanked them for.

As we flew along, the driver leaned forward, and on each side the passengers peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that something exciting was either happening, or expected, but even though I asked everyone, nobody would give me an answer. This state of excitement lingered for a time, until at last we saw what was before us. The Pass opened put on the Eastern side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as if the mountain range had two separate atmospheres, and now we had entered the thunderous one.

With each passing moment, I expected to see lamp light greeting me in the blackness; but all was darkness. The only light was the flickering rays of the lamps, in which the steam rising off the hard driven horses was rising in white tendrils. We could now see the sandy, white road before us, but there was no sign of a vehicle. The passengers all sighed in relief, which seemed mocking considering my dissatisfaction.

I began to think I may as well move on, when the driver announced, "An hour less than the promised time." Then, turning to me and speaking in German worse than my own, he said; "There is no carriage here, The Herr is not expected, after all. He will now come on to Bukovina, and return tomorrow, or the next day."

While he was talking, the horses began to stir, snorting and pawing at the soil so hard that the driver had to hold them back. Then, amongst the screams of the peasants, all crossing themselves as they ran, a calèche, with four horses, drove up behind us and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the flash of lamps, as the rays fell on them, the coal-black sheen of the magnificent animal's coats. They were driven by a tall man, with long, black hair and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. I could only see the gleam of a pair of very dark, russet brown eyes, which seemed red in the lamplight as he turned to us. He then said to the driver; "You're early tonight, my friend."

The man stammered a reply, "The English Herr was in a hurry," to which the stranger replied; "That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go onto Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift." As he spoke, he smiled, the lamplight fell on a hard, chiseled jaw, with a thin smile veiled with amusement, and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory.

One of my companions whispered to another the words from Burger's "Lenore":

_Denn die Todten reiten schnell._

_(For the dead travel fast)_

The driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, while crossing himself.

"Give me the Herr's luggage." Said the driver; and with exceeding alacrity my bags were handed out and put in the calèche. Then I descended from the side of the coach, as the calèche pulled up, and grasped the driver's offered hand. His grip was as hard as steel, he must have been very strong, from what I could tell through the heavy grey overcoat.

Without a word, he shook the reins, the horses turned, and swept into the darkness of the pass. As I looked back, I saw the steam from the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and remembered the figures of my late companions crossing themselves. Then, the driver cracked the whip and called to his horses, and off they swept, on their way to Bukovina.

* * *

"There, Momma, comfortable?" Bulma whispered, tucking her mother comfortably into bed, to which Panchy giggled, "I'm fine, dear, just _fine!_ Please, go relax, and I'll see you in the morning." She said sweetly, and patted Bulma's hand.

"What about Papa? He said some really strange things today, are you sure he's feeling alright...?" She said uneasily, nibbling at her fingernails. Panchy brushed her other hand away from her face, and held them both.

"If I know him, he's simply tired, is all. You know, all the time he spends down in that lab is unhealthy!" Panchy sighed, resting her bouffant of blonde curls on the pillow.

"Why don't you go relax dear, it's very late. I think I'll stay up and read a bit until your father comes to bed." She said, picking up a dog eared copy of Macbeth.

"Alright, Momma. Goodnight!" Bulma said, and waltzed out of the room, making her mother smile. Bulma was like a diamond among stones, in her mother's eyes.

Bulma trailed her fingers up the railing, humming softly to herself, as she went to her room, stripping away garments as she did. "What a lady needs is _relaxation_ , on a stormy night like this," She said, and sighed, shutting the door tightly, and locking it. Bulma made sure to close the curtains, even though their estate was far back beyond the gardens, at the end of a winding, gated pathway, she still got that strange feeling sometimes that something lurked in the darkness, ever watchful.

She unbuttoned her dress, allowing it to fall down her white slip underneath, and strolled to the attached bathroom, turning the faucet to the deep, claw footed ivory tub. She hummed her lilting song again, smiling as she took a glass decanter off the side of the tub, and unscrewed the glass cap, allowing a thin, red stripe of viscous fluid to pour out, quickly becoming foamy as the hot water hit it.

It had been a gift from her friend Launch Westerna, who had given it to her with the suggestion that the bubble bath was best for two, to which she blushed, shaking her head "Yamcha wouldn't dare, not to mention, my tub isn't meant for two," The shy girl had replied. Bulma smiled, thinking of her good friend.

Launch wasn't shy, not in the slightest, her vivacious blonde, and at times bluenette friend, who was an oddity in herself; what they called a changeling, could at times be overwhelmingly luscious and libidinous, when she wasn't locked and loaded on her latest beau, then at other times, demure and sweet.

The water began to rise, and Bulma stood, peeling the slip off one shoulder at a time to reveal her lily white skin. "Once I had the rarest rose, that ever dared to bloom..." She whispered in a singsong voice, slipping into the heat, sighing as her long legs disappeared beneath the suds, her virginal body hidden in their safety as she pulled the pins restraining her wild curls out, setting them on the side of the tub, as she sunk into the frothy pink foam.

* * *

As we sank into the darkness, I felt a strange chill, and a lonely feeling came over me; but a cloak was quickly thrown over my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver said in excellent German, "The night is chill, mein Herr, and the Count demanded I take good care of you. There is a flask of Slivovitz, our country's plum brandy underneath the seat, if you should require it to calm your nerves."

I didn't drink any, but it was a comfort to know it was there if I needed it. I felt a bit unnerved, and if I had the choice, I would have never stepped foot in the calèche, but it was too late to back out now, even as the driver began to backtrack. I thought about asking him why, but hesitated to protest against his judgment, I was already running late, so I saw no other option. My curiosity increased, as I began to wonder what time it was, and lit a match to look at the time on my watch. It was just a few minutes before midnight.

I gulped, feeling queasy with my distress, as all the superstitions, and warnings about this day began to weigh on me. A dog began to howl, from far away, most likely on a farm house like one of the ones we'd passed a while ago. It wasn't just any ordinary howl, a bay at the moon; it was a long, agonized wailing, as if in fear. The haunting sound was joined by another, then another, until the sound was carried on the icy wind from The Pass, and the howling began, which seemed to be coming from all across the country, as far as the imagination could grasp it through the gloom of night.

At the first howl, the horses began to stir, and strain at the reins, but he soothed them with clandestine whispers, taking his white gloves, and folding his large, long fingered hands into the shape of a bird, to which he laughed, his teeth glinting as his mouth clicked shut, and he sang, "Watch the birdie!,"

Which only made my anxiety increase tenfold, my heart racing wildly in my chest as I watched the man smile, his long, wild black hair fluttering on the breeze as if this were any other night, and he was out for a twilight stroll down the barren road, in this crack of the world, which seemed to be ever sinking into the depths of darkness.

* * *

 _'Good day for ducks'.._.

Bulma thought to herself with a giggle, thinking of her father's idiosyncrasies, his tall tales, and crazy inventions as she played with the bubbles, to which she was soaking in up to her rosy pink cheeks, content with her bath, playing in the water like a lackadaisical toddler. Her mind wandered, as she tilted her head of conditioned curls back, closing her eyes as she tried to imagine what it must have been like for the Count, all alone in his castle for all those years, forever pining for his lost love...

She jolted in the water, her large blue saucers peeking out from the bubbles as the window pane began to rattle and shiver from the ferocious winds outside. Bulma swallowed, suddenly remembering those chilling words her father had said, about when the clock struck midnight. She glanced over to the clock on the wall, and gulped. It was three strokes of the little hand past midnight, as the clock's steady ticking suddenly sounded much louder, _tick tick tick tick tock_

Bulma tore her eyes away from the clock, shaking her head, she looked down, and watched with delayed confusion as the bubbles rapidly popped, like melting snow into the the rosy water, laced with streaks of red where her pale legs suddenly folded to her body in fear, her arms wrapping around her creamy thighs.

_It's nothing, I've been in the bath too long, that's all, besides, it's some foreign holiday, some wild superstition..._

_THUNK._

She screamed, a gut wrenching cry, as the wind blew hard, and some white bellied reptile hit the window pane, its three toed, webbed feet the only thing keeping it clinging to the window, as she panted rapidly, trying to regain her breath, and reasoned with herself.

_It's only a lizard, some weak, slimy little bug-eating critter...harmless._

Bulma got up from the tub, gingerly, and pulled the plug, wrapping a towel around herself to conceal the full curvature of her backside, flushed pink by the hot water.

_Time for bed, Bulamina..._

She sighed, and faintly hoped, that wherever Yamcha was, he was alright.

* * *

The strange puppet show that the driver had performed had the most stunning effect on the horses, as they watched the "birdie" dance, and listened to his soft susurrations, they gradually became calm, and relaxed enough that he patted one one the backside, though the horses hide still quivered and sweated from fright. He walked back to his seat, tipping the broad brim of his strange black hat to me with two fingers, prompting me to get back inside the calèche. I'd heard of such a thing as "horse-whisperers'', but I thought it would be more whispering, and petting, not some type of... _odd_ magic show. I was still impressed, though, and I almost wished the tall man would pull that trick on me to help me calm down, because right about now I was ready to jump off the calèche once again, as the horses began to rear and buck madly once again as far off, from either side of the mountains, began a much louder, and sharper howling, this time, of wolves. The driver made an almost inhuman sound like a growl, and held the reins with all his impressive strength, keeping them from bolting.

After a few minutes, however, my ears became accustomed to the sound, and the horses became quiet once again as the driver descended once again to calm them, standing between the massive stallions, he towered over them, petting, soothing, and whispering into their ears. They quickly became manageable again, though they still trembled. The driver once again cracked the reins, and started off at a great pace. This time, going to the far side of the Pass, he suddenly turned down a sharp roadway which ran sharply to the right.

Soon, we were hemmed in by trees, which in some places arched right over the roadway until we passed through a tunnel; and once again, great frowning rocks guarded us on each side. Though sheltered, we could still hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through the rocks, the branches of trees crashing and cracking together as we rode along. it grew colder, and colder still, and fine, powdery white snow began to fall, and soon we, and everything around us was covered in a white blanket. The sound of dogs howling became fainter, though it carried on the wind louder, then faded as the current became fiercer. The baying of the wolves though; became closer and closer, as if they were closing in on either side. I grew terrified, and the horses shared this sentiment; but the driver was not in the least disturbed. He kept turning his head left to right, but I couldn't see anything in the darkness.

Suddenly, aways to the left, I saw a flickering blue flame. The driver saw it at the same moment; he at once checked the horses, jumping to the ground, and disappeared into the darkness. I was baffled, sitting dumbstruck and scared stiff as the howling grew closer and closer, but as I began to wonder where the driver had disappeared to, he suddenly appeared again. Without a word, he took his seat, and we resumed our journey.

I must have fallen asleep for a while, and kept dreaming of the incident, because it seemed to repeat endlessly, like some horrible nightmare. Once, the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the darkness around us, I could watch the driver's motions. He went rapidly to where the blue flames rose, and gathering a few stones, formed them into some type of device. Once there appeared a strange optical effect; when he stood between me and it, he seemed to be like a ghostly apparition, for I could still see the blue flames flickering right through him.

I blinked my eyes, and once again he was riding at an incredible speed, as the darkness surrounded us now, completely devoid of the St. Elmo's Fire from before, now, there was only the golden glow of eyes all around us, and the low snarling of the beasts that seemed to tear through their hungry bellies, and send spikes of fear up my spine. The driver had stopped completely, he was doing nothing. I pounded on the wall of the calèche, screaming for him to go, until he turned, and with one finger on his lips shushed me, and I was silenced, gulping in fear.

I could not believe my eyes, as the driver stepped down from his seat, and stood guard over the horses, his tall, broad figure towering over all the wolves, and yet, as far as his shadow cast onto the ground beneath the crescent moon, there were bodies of the beasts all around us, their long pink tongues lolling out the sides of their hungry mouths.

Then, I heard a bellowing command, spoken in some tongue I do not know; except that it demanded obedience, and with it, the wolves scattered away, yelping. He walked slowly back to the seat, and did not speak a single word, he only cracked the whip, and we hurtled into the darkness once again, up, and onward, the calèche was pulled, up a winding slope, framed by the skeletons of trees, until at last, we came upon the craggy cliffside overlooking the dark river far below, and the jagged spires of Castle Vegeta could at last be seen.


	3. 5th May- The Castle Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, do come in, take a seat everyone! I have for you today, at last, the entrance of our Prince, the Count Vegeta! /applause/ Vegeta takes a bow.
> 
> I was so excited to write this. I am sorry for the delay, but I also bring good tidings. Before, I was watching Dracula AND reading it, AS I was writing this, which as I discovered was not the perfect method, as much as I would love to watch the movie over and over, I want to keep this story accurate for the most part.
> 
> Remember, our Dragon Ball Z favorites are actors in a play, playing a role, but in my interpretation.
> 
> It's my pleasure to say I've found the original, uncut script of the 1992 Bram Stoker's Dracula, and I will be using this as my guide, as well as the others for reference.
> 
> VERY IMPORTANT: Please refer back to chapter 1, I have added a new scene I neglected to add, this has bearing on the story so you should take note! Minor edits may be made to this story over time, after all, Rome was not built in a day, and as I build upon this world, certain small details will require correction. Now, onto the story!

Bulma's Diary. May 5th.

I've decided to stay one more day at home until I return to Launch's estate for the remainder of Yamcha's trip. I do love to keep my parents company, but at times I just need to feel the freedom away from school papers, and my mother's urging to be fitted for my wedding gown, and picking out all the placements, the sweets- I told her, you _know_ what I like! After all, she is a connoisseur of flowers, baking, and girly things like that. I am at heart, a scientist, and my mission before I leave, is to find out the truth of this Count Dracula, and his bride.

"Papa!" Bulma called, her scratchy voice echoing as she ran down the circular staircase, holding the bar in the center as she twirled, her long azure locks loose at her back.

"Papa, look at me!" She called, and giggled as she saw him jump up in reaction from the project he was fiddling with, and drop the beaker.

"Bulma, dear! You've forgotten your dress!" He gasped, and covered his eyes, turning away. Bulma giggled, hopping down from the stairs in a form fitting pair of high waisted tan slacks, meant only for men at the time, with a white button-up shirt. She hooked her fingers in the suspenders and smirked with her cleverness, it wasn't that hard to procure the clothing, with the little white lie that she needed to take a fitting for her twin brother- and leave room for him to move, particularly in the back seat, and the chest, as he had a very active lifestyle.

"It's just you and me here! Besides, I can't work in a lacy, poofy dress that gets caught on everything!" She said, crossing her arms. Dr. Murray recovered, with a harrumph through his lilac moustache, then flicked a match and lit his pipe, perusing over his lab.

"You certainly are special, dear. Any man would be glad to have you at his side, a lady scientist, in this day and age!" He said, and handed her a heavy pair of gloves, and an heavy apron. Bulma scoffed, putting them on. "I do not weigh my worth in the eyes of a man." She said, and put on a pair of goggles as well.

"..I've found a suitable subject, now, are you _absolutely certain_ that this is what you want? I have to warn you, what you're about to see may make you ill." Her father warned, as he gestured to a mass beneath a black sheet. Tiny pink hooves stuck out at the bottom, as Bulma observed with a grimace.

"Pull it back." She said grimly, and her father nodded, hesitating a moment, then taking hold of the fabric and peeling it back over the cadaver. It was a pig, fat and pink, naked, with a long slice up his sternum in a T shape, that had been from autopsy.

"What was wrong with him..?" She quivered, holding back her gorge at the heavy scent of formaldehyde, and a sickly sweet scent of decomposition. His stubby hoofs were slightly black at the ends, and the skin had begun to peel away like a glove, revealing the puffy, discolored skin beneath.

"He had a compacted aorta, and suffered a severe heart attack. He has the heart now, of a baboon. I know that this is rather strange, but procuring these objects is rather costly, and I was neglect to give the details as to _why_ I needed them." Dr. Murray tutted, and adjusted the metal cap on the swine's head.

"Yes, but a _pig_... That's many steps closer to a human, than rather a cat or dog. And, you said this creature could speak?" Bulma said, inspecting the cadaver's front hoof, where as she looked, the hooves closely resembled fingers. She shuddered, setting down the stiff limb gingerly, afraid to displace any of the delicate flesh.

"Yes, that is correct, daughter. He shows signs of evolution, that is odd for his breed." He said, twisting a wire and making sure it was clamped down correctly.

"And... at his state of decomposition?" She said, holding her breath as she stared down at his putrid, bloated belly with six nipples protruding out in points that looked ready to burst.

"Doubtful. But it's worth a try. I'd prefer to keep this little experiment under wraps, dear. No-one can know of this- We cannot have another reanimation frenzy. There are things lurking about in this world that should simply- _stay dead."_

* * *

5th, May. Yamcha Harker's Journal

I must have been asleep, for if I were not, I would have surely taken notice of the remarkable sight before me. I was jostled awake by the heavy hand of the driver, who looked down at me, and smiled with a toothy grin, which made me feel slightly unnerved by the odd sharpness of his canines, which were quickly concealed as the smile dissipated immediately, and the driver tipped his tall hat to the courtyard.

There is just something _odd_ about that man I cannot place, but he is so deceptively kind, I cannot speak of my suspicions.

"We've arrived at the Castle, herr Yamcha." He said raspily, taking Yamcha's hand with his firm grip, pulling him off the calèche with what seemed like if he so desired, he could have crushed it easily, but chose not to.

Yamcha looked around the dark courtyard, and froze as the heavy iron gate behind them slammed shut, with heavy steel bars like spikes to impale any unwanted intruders. The driver chuckled softly, and picked up Yamcha's bags, leading him down the gloomy courtyard, which seemed to have several pathways, lit beneath great, round arches, that made it seem much more immense than it really was.

Yamcha was quietly observing his surroundings, admiring the tall, stone door that was weathered by age. Until, he was startled by the sound of his luggage being set down, and then saw the back of the driver's long bristling mane, as he hopped back up onto the calèche, and cracked the whip, riding quickly through the gate, like a black smear in the mottled light.

There was a low click, then a darkness opened up beneath him, and his luggage was swallowed whole, all disappeared down into the dark abyss. Yamcha stood frozen stiff, hesitating to move, for wherever he stepped he feared a vine would come out and curl around his leg, or he would fall into one of those pits himself.

He looked around himself warily, not seeing a door knocker, or a sign, only the tall walls frowning all around him, and dark openings with which depth he could not perceive; nor could his voice penetrate. The longer he stood, the more he began to doubt himself. Yamcha gulped, his throat bobbing, as he pulled the thick collar of his petticoat away from his stifling throat, as frantic thoughts began to run through his mind in a panicked slurry of incomprehensible fears.

_What sort of crazed place is this, anyway? What more could possibly await me beyond this door? Is this a normal fear for a solicitor's clerk to have...? How can I explain the details of purchasing a London Estate to a foreigner? Man, a 'Solicitor's Clerk!' Bulma would not like that! Just before leaving London I got word that my exam was successful, and now I'm a **full-blown** Solicitor!_

Yamcha rubbed his eyes, attempting to blink away his disbelief; shaking his head as if to wake himself from this terrible nightmare, and find himself sitting up in bed, stretching out his arms as he looked out the bright, sunny window back home. He reached over and pinched his arm, then winced, and that confirmed it, as he rubbed the area and grit his teeth.

_It's confirmed, this **is** real. I'm here, deep in the Carpathian mountains, alone in the dark. All I can really do now is maybe wait for morning, then find a way out of here..._

Just as he came to this conclusion, there was a heavy footstep approaching beyond the great door, and through the cracks, a gleam of light. There was the sound of the deadbolt unlatching with a heavy thud, and the jangling of many chains, then, a key was turned with a loud, grating sound, perhaps from long disuse, and the great door swung back.

Within the high archway, stood, to Yamcha's surprise, a shorter, more stocky man than himself, clean shaven, save for a strip of neatly trimmed mustache, that trailed down to his sharp chin. He was clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of color on him anywhere, besides his bright silver belt buckle, and the chains clasping his brocade vest that was ancient, and perhaps some more precious material such as platinum.

He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the bright orb of light did not seem to require a wick, or globe of any kind, and cast shadows over his angular, sharp features seemingly carven from marble, alighting the silver streaks in his flame of black hair, catching his gleaming white smile. The man motioned him in with his right hand in a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation;

"Welcome, to my home. Enter freely, and of your own will." He said brusquely, but made no motion towards Yamcha, instead, stood still as a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had frozen him into stone. Yamcha hesitated, then stepped forth over the threshold, feeling an odd sense of gravity, like he was being pulled in, as he stepped forth. The Count was holding out his hand for Yamcha to grip, and so he took it, with such strength it made him wince, an effect that was made worse by the fact that it was also as cold as ice, like that of a dead man. Yamcha hid his pain and smiled through it, coming fully through the door. Again, the Count said;

"Welcome to my house! Come freely, go safely, and leave something of that happiness you bring within!" He said crisply, and shook his hand, with the strength much like that of the driver, with the same long, white gloves concealing his fingers, but for a silver ring with a red gem on his ring finger

Yamcha took note of this, and narrowed his eyes on him, _I_ _wonder if the driver is somehow related to him, I never got a real clear picture of his face, but that handshake, and their features, makes me think that they could be brothers; if not for the great difference in height._

Yamcha grinned inwardly to himself, thinking himself clever, he asked sharply; in more of an interrogative tone than a question: "You're Count Vegeta?"

He bowed in a courtly way as he replied, holding out the side of his red cloak flocked with a royal blue interior, and tapped one closed fist over his heart in an odd gesture Yamcha didn't recognize.

"I am Vegeta. And I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in; the night air is chill, and you should like to eat, and rest." He said so sternly, eyeing me from his bowed posture. Then, he placed the lantern on a hook, and it better lit the cracked stone walkway as I stared past him, and into the murky castle grounds before me. Without my noticing, he'd already taken my luggage, and had already carried it in before I could even stop him. "Ah- you shouldn't have!"

But Vegeta would not take no for an answer, he tightened his grip on the bags almost possessively, and shook his head once, snorting.

" _Nonsense_ , you're my guest after all, and the help isn't available at this hour. Allow me to handle it." He insisted, and carried the luggage through the passage, and then up a great, winding staircase, his silky cloak with a tattered end trailing across each step, where his silver heeled boots clicked. At the end, he threw open a heavy door, and Yamcha's heart skipped a beat with relief to see a well- lit room, with a delicious looking spread on the table, before a great hearth where logs were alight with flames. Yamcha licked his lips, looking around eagerly, as Vegeta disregarded the meal, and halted, setting down Yamcha's bags. He closed the door with a heavy thud, the muscles beneath the rippling cloak startlingly tensed, as Yamcha watched, curiously.

 _Man, how old IS the Count...? For an old guy, he's sure in good shape! And barely **any** grey hair... _Yamcha thought, taking off his hat, and brushing back his straight bangs, tucking them behind his ears with a huff. _What am I thinking, at a time like this?_

There was another clicking and creaking of an ancient door, where as Yamcha shook himself out of his befuddled thoughts, they passed through another room, which was scarcely lit, and didn't seem to have any windows. Upon passing through this, he opened another door, and Yamcha paused. Vegeta gestured towards the door, motioning for him to enter. It was a welcome sight in Yamcha's tired eyes, well lit, warmed up with a log on the fire, which blaze roared up the wide chimney.

The Count left the luggage inside, and withdrew, saying before he left the door, "I'd imagine after your long journey, you'd like to freshen up and use the toilet. I won't keep you waiting, once you're relieved, come into the other room, where you'll find your supper is prepared. _Be sure_ to wash your hands." He said with a devilish smirk, and Yamcha's cheeks flared with embarrassment as he quickly nodded, and turned away as Vegeta closed the door. For whatever reason, as Yamcha hurriedly unbuckled his pants, and ran towards the toilet with them around his ankles, he could have sworn he heard hearty laughter from behind the door, and he himself felt inadequate for a moment, ridiculously so.

_Of course I would need to go, but he didn't need to **point** it out! As if he has a bottomless bladder, or something to that effect!_

Yamcha huffed, and pulled the door closed behind him with a slam, then afterwards, came out, washed up and dried his hands on a cloth, and smiled. After all, the Count was very kind and courteous, and what kind of guest was he if he couldn't take a bit of friendly bantering?

Once Yamcha came out, his hair freshly combed, and wrinkled clothes changed, he found that supper was still laid out, and steaming. How it was still hot, he didn't ponder on, as he gulped, and noticed Vegeta standing before the fire, with his back to him, having removed his cloak for his black vest, with white rolled-up sleeves. He flapped one hand dismissively towards the food, and turned, grinning.

"You should find there is enough for your appetite, I myself have already dined before your arrival, and I never drink... _wine_. But, my people are known for their great appetites, so if you don't mind I'll sit with you, and you can tell me of your journey." He said kindly, pouring Yamcha a goblet of dark burgundy wine from an elaborately carved pewter decanter, with the depiction of a dragon. Yamcha took the wine, and drank, nearly sucking in his cheeks from the sour bite of the wine that must have been centuries old. He gulped, wiping sweat from his brow with a napkin.

The Count pulled out a chair, and pulled forth a massive platter of roast turkey, which he began to carve, holding it steady with a two-pronged fork, and carving with a large serrated knife, as Yamcha waited patiently, telling him animatedly of his travels, as the Count nodded his assent, and carved the Turkey until it was just the carcass. He plated the meat, and poured a dark, rich swill of brown gravy over it, as Yamcha's stomach roared. Then, to his surprise Vegeta speared the meat he had been cutting with the fork, and it disappeared into his cheek, as he chewed it quickly with incisors that must have cut like steel, for how quickly he swallowed. The silver knife gleamed as he tapped it on a covered dish, and motioned for Yamcha to take it.

" _This_ is yours, my apologies, where are my manners." He chuckled, his dark eyes lighting with a playful sliver flicker as Yamcha pulled off the lid, and saw with delayed delight a roast hen for himself, but didn't complain, instead, he did the same, and began carving it.

"Pardon me if I have been an ungracious host; but the appetites of my people are _voracious_ , and you'd be wise not to come between myself, and my meal." Vegeta said, with a swarthy chuckle as he stabbed another large chunk of meat, and Yamcha shrugged, "That's alright, I'm feeling quite famished myself." He said, and picked up the largest wad of meat possible, in imitating his host, and attempted to gnaw on it, almost gagging.

Once he'd managed to get it down, he felt some small relief as it hit the rolling acid in his stomach, as he looked around the massive dining room, which loomed above with a low whisper of a chilling wind through the chambers. Yamcha noticed a massive portrait of a man on the wall, with the same type of flame-like, raven hair, with hints of red, and a similar face, that was nearly identical as he looked at Vegeta and back.

"An ancestor of yours? I see a resemblance." He stated, as Vegeta's expression became grim, and he chewed slowly, contemplating his answer, before sitting back and dabbing the corner of his mouth with a red cloth.

"Yes. That is my...ah, father..." He said lowly, then stood quickly, turning on his heel to look up at the portrait.

"Let me clarify, _great_ , grandfather. He was a member of the Vraculya. Pledged to protect the church, from any outside forces that would oppose them." He said, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and chuckling bitterly, as Yamcha looked on in wonder, chewing at his food in quiet contemplation.

"That relationship, as they would have it was, heh. Not... _successful."_ Vegeta chided, stroking the strips of his moustache carefully, thoughtfully with his white glove. Yamcha laughed slightly, attempting to be polite. To his surprise, Vegeta suddenly whirled around, pulling a curved Turkish sword off the mantle, and slashing it violently through the air with skill, sending Yamcha stumbling out of his chair in fear.

 _"Ignorant **fool**! This is no laughing matter! A Vaiyan has the **right** to his Pride! His glory is my glory! Is it any wonder that my people were a conquering race!? What devil or witch was ever as great as the Vaiyan of Legend, whose blood **flows** through these veins!"_ He hissed out threateningly, his eyes blazing into Yamcha's as he held the blade there a moment longer, then withdrew it, with a sharp exhale. Then, his shoulders shook and he made a deep shuddering sound, and turned away, holding his grimacing face in his hands, before looking up to the painting of himself, and sighing longingly.

"Our blood is too precious of a thing these days, the days of battle, and victory are over... I am just a tale to be told. My race is long-gone, and for good reason... This world is perhaps not long for the Vaiyans anymore." The Count said, bitterly and with pain in his biting words, as he lowered his head, and Yamcha stepped forth, feeling sympathetic.

"I have offended you with my ignorance, count, forgive me."

"Forgive me, my friend. I am not accustomed to having... guests. I've grown weary after many long years of mourning over those who are dead... but soon, my exile will be over. With you, I start my new beginning. In London." Vegeta said, then turned and gave him a small smile. A shiver crept down Yamcha's spine, but he nodded, nonetheless.

"Shall we retire to the library?" The Count said, and he nodded.

...

At the Count's request, we went to the library and smoked cigars, the rich tobacco smoke filling my nostrils with a pleasant woodsy aroma, as I took this opportunity to get a closer look at The Count, from before the roaring fire, from what I found, he had a very marked physiognomy.

His face was strong, very strong- aquiline, with a sharply pointed nose, and peculiarly arched nostrils in a permanent sneer; with a lofty, domed forehead. His brows were massive, dark and brooding as they met over his nose in a furrow. His hair was very sparse at the temples, but grew in wild, coarse black spikes everywhere else, eventually coming to a point. His mouth, as far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel looking, with peculiarly white, straight teeth, the canines of which were pointed, and poked over his bottom lip, which for a man his age, were very red with vitality.

For the rest, his ears were very large, and somewhat pointed, his chin, broad and strong, and the cheeks, firm though thin. He was an extraordinary specimen, like fine-aged wine, with the strength of his youth still shining through, beneath the thin haze of age. As we sat, he made a low rumbling sound in his throat as he stared at the dancing flames, as if recalling a dream, his onyx eyes flicked back and forth, and his fingers beneath the white gloves flexed, and flicked at the fabric of his pants fretfully.

"Count...?" I said, hesitantly, and touched his broad shoulder. Count Vegeta gasped, twitching, he looked away from the fire and took a moment to breathe, gripping my shoulders with those powerful fingers that nearly squeezed the life from me. For a moment, I felt I would fall faint. I shuddered; making the count withdraw back quickly. A horrible feeling of nausea came over me as I regained my composure, hunched over in the chair, as Vegeta turned away, opening up the window to let out the thick curling clouds of smoke, and let in the cool air of night.

We both fell silent for a long moment, as the Count stared down out the window. and to the sheer cliffside.

As I looked towards the window, I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn, a bleeding rose red beneath a rolling blue velvet sky. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened, I heard it. From deep below the valley, the howling of many wolves.

The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said; "Listen to them, the children of the night. What _music_ they make!"

 _'Music?' Those beasts?_ Yamcha thought, shuddering.

Seeing I did not respond, the Count quickly said; "Ah... You, a city dweller, could not understand the hunter." Then, he turned and said, "But, you must be tired, your bedroom is all ready, feel free to sleep as long as you would like tomorrow, I have to be away til the afternoon; so sleep well, and dream well!" And then, with a courteous bow, he opened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom...

_I am in a sea of wonders. I doubt; or rather, I fear... I think strange things which I dare not confess to my own soul. God preserve me, for the sake of those dear to me!_

* * *

There was a loud whirring, and motley of grinding, clanking gears, as Bulamina Murray took her father's hand, and stepped onto the lift. He pulled down hard on a lever, and with a heavy click, they began to move, slowly on a tall extension, as gears turned from below, the roof of the laboratory opening up, and parting the roof above them.

"This is _impressive!_ Grampa Drewers built all this?" Bulma shouted over the whirring, and rumbling of the roof pulling away with a cloud of dust.

"Yes. I told you he was mad! But with madness, comes greatness!" He yelled back, then they both laughed, as the lift came to a halting stop, and there they were, at the highest peak of the Victorian mansion, thrust up, high into the sky.

Their white lab coats fluttered on the cooling wind, as Bulma looked all around in wonder. "But, wait! Oh, we've not taken into account the conditions!" She said with a disappointed sigh, and her father hummed thoughtfully.

"Hmm, well... We can only hope that there are enough electrons in the air, perhaps, take the Drewers Coil and charge it at full capacity, then rise up as high as possible into the clouds!" He said, and eagerly went to adjust the crank to go higher. Bulma placed her hand over his, then chuckled nervously.

"No! I'm scared of heights! If we go any higher, I can't guarantee you I won't wet my pants!" She trembled, and he shook his head.

" _Pah!_ Just like your mother!" He said, then crossed his arms.

"Well, you're a genius, why don't you figure it out then?" He puffed, sucking on his pipe, as Scratch clawed at his shoulder and hissed.

"What is it, kitty? Are you frightened of heights as well?" He mused, then jumped as Bulma shouted, at the same time as a crack of thunder suddenly shook them.

" _Aha!_ Lightning, towards the East! Is it close enough, father?" She shouted with her excitement, and he nodded.

" _Quickly!_ Quickly now, begin the transformer!" He said, just as excitedly, and Bulma knocked the switches down to turn on the Drewer's Coil.

"Charging... primary coil charging at 30%..." Bulma said, and looked back at the coils heating up, and to her watch. Another bolt of lightning struck, and they yelled with approval.

" _45!_ That puts it at 45- _50%!"_ Dr. Murray shouted, as his hair blew back from a strong gust of wind and snow, and Scratch clung on for dear life.

" _Secondary coil has lit!"_

_Boom! Crackle! Hiss!_

_"Capacitor ready! Bulma, affix the clamps!"_ He screamed, as rain began to fall in torrents, and sparks began to fly through the air around them.

 _"Ready, Papa! She's at 100%!"_ She cried back, her aquamarine eyes lively with her excitement, as the lightning lit them up once again.

"Come on, come on! Yes! We **have** _resonance!"_ He snapped, and there was a surge of power that suddenly overwhelmed them, as they clung to one another. The pig's body was all aglow, as the electricity from the sky drew into the bulb, then into the metal cap on his head, and into the bolts screwed tightly into his skull. Purple tendrils of electrical currents danced through the air, until, a large bolt went through him, the purple electric surge barreling into his small body.

The cadaver began to shake, and make hot popping sounds, as formaldehyde and embalming fluid leaked out of his stitches, and Bulma made a shrill scream. "He's shaking! Oh god, that terrible smell!" She covered her nose at the acrid scent of burnt chemicals.

"That's natural! No need to worry, Bulma!" Dr. Murray assured, and she nodded. The thunder was beginning to move away, as they looked at the black storm clouds beginning to move away, with blue fire licking in between the heavy bows of clouds.

_"Do it again! Fire up the coil!"_

Bulma screamed, growling almost at her father, as he shook his head back quickly.

"It's too late- It's already out of energy. If it recharges, he'll be _cooked!"_

" **Do** it, Papa! He's dead anyway!" She screeched, and he agreed, quickly going to fiddle with the transformer, before backing quickly away. He reached and held Bulma's hand, and they watched as the coil began the process once again.

"Primary coil...recharging.." He said softly, watching as electricity slowly, yet in frantic motion, began to dance through the air, the tips of Dr. Murray's purple hair slightly raising.

"Primary coil has maximum capacity...We are rapidly going into secondary." He said softly, and then whispered, his spectacles reflecting the brilliance sparking there at the center.

There was a flash of light, and the bulb illuminated, full of dancing tendrils, desperate to escape. Some did escape, appearing in one place, and vanishing to another with a play of lights.

"Resonance has been achieved. Stand back, Bulma." He said quickly, gripping her hand firmly, and backing up.

There was another high pitched whirring sound, as the last of the electricity contained surged through the corpse, and it sat up, screaming. Bulma and her father screamed as well, as the open mouth of the pig wailed, then he fell back, and was silent, smoke sizzling from every orifice, the heat, coming off of him in waves. They were silent, panting, as the rain pattered on the rooftop, and they watched him for movement. He made a groan, and sat up again, rubbing his head.

"Egads... where am I? And who are you?"

* * *

May 5th, Launch Lucy Westerna's Diary

I am home alone, once again with my thoughts. It is only me here, and my twin sister, all alone in this cold old manor. I wish that father would return home from his business in Italy, but he has sent me another sum through the mail, and I've cashed it, and bought myself a new dress. It's gorgeous, with a red, fluffy skirt. Beautiful heart shape neckline, and matching necklace.

All to match the red ribbon from my darling Raditz Quincy Morris. I worry that I may have frightened poor, virginal Bulma away the other day with our little rendezvous. I miss him desperately, the desire I feel for him is frightening, almost. I've sent Sir Piccolo a letter, telling him that I miss him as well. He is so quiet, and refuses my kisses, but that makes him all the more fun to chase.

...Sometimes, I think maybe Raditz is somewhat odd, and being with him, is like every fiber of my being is on fire. I'm scared. I don't want to _love_ him, I want to be young and free, but being with him is like locking away my destiny.

Launch set down her pen, and sat astride her chair, pulling her fingers through her blue curls fretfully. The red dress she wore complimented her pale, rosy skin wonderfully, as she blushed, and put one pink silky glove to her face.

"I'm in love... Oh no, how could I fall in love?" She sighed, then rested her face in her hands, sobbing. The image of him flashed through her mind, it rumbled; _black, thundering, horses!_ She jumped, looking to the open window, where the sun was setting.

"It's almost time!" She gasped, and stood, her legs quivering as she ran to the window, and stared, as the sun slowly set, her blue locks flew back on the sudden cold wind that was like a breath of winter, like hard fingertips, groping at her breasts, her spine tingled, as she licked her lips and gasped for breath.

"Raditz! Come to me, darkness _fall!"_ She commanded, and squeezed her eyes shut, and on the ruby horizon, lightning flashed, and as she wished, darkness fell, and with it, thunder. The thunderous rumble of hooves, as his impressive figure came over the horizon, dragging at his back the bouncing calèche, drifts of snow falling from it's roof, black clouds rolling back on ethereal blue flames where the tires made tracks that scorched the earth. His eyes met hers, and she gasped, crawling out onto the balcony quickly, stumbling, Launch tore a gash in her dress on the rose bush. She turned back with a hiss, and inspected her exposed thigh, where a thin stream of blood trickled.

"What's this?" He whispered, and she looked up quickly, and they were in the dark, leather interior of the calèche, her long, white leg held across one burly, black coat arm, as he looked down, with glinting crimson eyes, and his nostrils flared.

"I... I...ripped my dress." She whispered, and he purred in response, and licked up her thigh with a hot swath of breath, wrinkles creasing around his eyes and nose for a moment, before he pulled back.

"You match the ribbon." He said, pulling the torn pieces over her leg, and inhaling sharply, diverting his eyes from it as if hiding away his dessert.

"Oh, y-yes... Thank you so much, I love it. Where are we going?" She asked timidly, as they sat. Raditz straightened out his back and smiled, moving his white gloved hands in an odd manner, and they began moving. The horses drawn by his invisible reigns.

"Wherever your heart desires, Paris, France? Texas, to my horse ranch? Just ask, and we can go. Precious little Launch." He whispered, and she giggled, taking grasp of his bicep with both hands and nuzzling her cheek against him.

" _Italy!_ I would like to see my father." She said sweetly, and he blinked, looking somewhat remiss.

"Hm, Italy. It shall be." He said, and snapped his fingers, before turning to her, and lifting her chin, staring into her glittering violet eyes.

"What's wrong with going to Italy, sweetheart?" Launch said, tilting her head.

"Nothing, nothing. Don't you worry your pretty head." He said with a smile, and lowered his face to meet hers, pulling her chin down gently with his fingers, and parting her pink pillowy lips, his crimson, blood-wet tongue sliding into her mouth as she whimpered, her shoulders quivering as the brim of his wide black hat with a long pheasant feather concealed them, and the carriage rumbled across the sky.

* * *

The brightly lit town was warm with mirth, as a man passing through looked all around himself; finding whimsy in its accordion music, played by a street peddler on the square, as the tall man strolled past, his thumbs hooked in his belt hoops as he stopped to listen to the music. A kind smile spread on his face, as he watched the little monkey clap his cymbals, and reached into his pocket to take out some coins.

" _Bella!_ Here, buy yourself something nice to eat, little buddy!" He said kindly, patting the monkey on it's tasseled cap. The whistling of the calliope music, and the singing of other street gypsies caught his attention, as he stood, and pulled out his pocket, finding it was empty.

"Whoops! Oh well," He said, shrugging, and continued making his way down the street, as his shadow cast six black prongs from his spiked hair.

"Goku, Gokuseppe!" A vendor called, and he perked up, and flew over, making them laugh. "Ah, you! You and your funny ways! Come, eat!" The old woman said, offering him a piece of bread. He bent down and sniffed it, and she tapped him on the head with it.

"Ouch! Hey, that's hard!" He whined, pouting, then she opened his hand and put it there, patting it.

" _Mangia!_ You're always starving!" The woman said, and Goku smiled.

" _Gratzie!"_ He said, and bit into it easily.

"No work these days?" She said, rubbing his large shoulders through the tattered cream blouse he wore, with suspenders and plain brown pants.

"Not if I can't find it!" He said, with a pout.

"Well, thankfully I'm always needed for lifting this or that, or fishing, but where the _real_ rewards are at, I've been lacking..." He said, his goofy smile fading, as his eyebrows lowered, and his eyes squinted as he sensed a cold chill on the air.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find the big fish your looking for, very soon!" She said, and he nodded curtly at that.

"...I'll see you tomorrow, Mama Baba, I have to go." He said, and flew off, as the little woman returned to her stand, where a large curtain was fluttering behind her, under the mock advertisement for bread, Fortune Teller Baba awaited her next customer.

"Oh, _wowiee!_ Look at that, Raditz! A little monkey!" Launch said happily, and squatted down to pet the monkey. Raditz lowered the brim of his hat, hiding his eyes as she petted the disgruntled monkey, who suddenly growled, and bit her finger.

"Ouch!" She cried, falling back. Raditz surged forward, and quickly twisted the tiny little Gibbon's neck before he could holler out for help, then swept her up into his arms, and jumped up deftly onto the roof of an establishment before what even happened could be witnessed. Launch trembled, as he held her delicate wrist away from himself as his eyes flashed, looking quickly around himself.

"What happened?! Oh, it all happened so fast!" She moaned, her head tilting back onto his arm, as she nearly fainted. Raditz hurriedly searched his pocket, and pulled out a small pinch of dust. He sprinkled it past her nose, and she sneezed, blinking her eyes rapidly.

"Huh? Oh, R-Raditz...!" Launch said suddenly, sitting up, her blonde hair shining like spun silk in the moonlight.

"Shhh, let's go...Tell me, where can we find your father?" He said gently, and took flight.

The little old lady went through the curtain, and swept her hands over a shining, blue crystal ball, conjuring up the image of the massive man, and the hair-changeling female.

"Where do you go, and who do you know?" She said, and watched as he flew so quickly, he was like a bullet through the wind. This startled her, as she gasped, and her mind flashed back to Goku, who in all her years, was the only person who could fly like that!

...

Goku darted through an alley, running deftly through the dark pathways, following the man in a dark trenchcoat, holding a woman as he bounded from rooftop to rooftop with ease, then lowered down on an overhang, using his prehensile tail to hang from it, as they lowered down to a large window.

"That's him! That's my Daddy! Napoli D. Westerna!" Launch whispered, and Raditz's back stiffened, as he slunk back farther onto the ledge as to not be seen.

" _The_ Napoli?" He hissed, pulling her back from the window by her waist.

"Yeah! His buddies call him Nappa!" She said cheerfully, and went to grab for the window pane.

"Let's surprise him! I bet he'll crap his pants when he sees me crawling through the window!" She giggled, but Raditz pulled her away, watching the dark room from above, where a group of men sat in leather chairs before a fire, smoking, and the largest of them had a shaved scalp.

"I don't think that's wise," Raditz said softly, then he froze.

"Hey! Hey you!" A voice called from below, as he looked down quickly, to where a spiky haired man was waving.

"Can you come down, please! I'd like to talk to you!" He shouted, so loudly the men inside the building began turning their heads, and pulling out their pistols, and as they stood, each one was dressed dapper, in black suits, with fedora hats and bowties.

"They think they can just come here, to my mansion, and shout in the windows?" Nappa growled, charging towards the window. Multiple men stopped him, and he relented.

"Stay! Stay there, Dom Napoli!"

"We got this!" The men said, assuring him, as one poured him a glass of brandy, and the other lit a cigar for him.

"Take care of it quickly. It's late, and we don't wanna make a lotta noise." He said roughly, and sat back in his large chair like a throne.

"Come on down! I just want to talk!"

" **Shuddup**!" Launch snarled, and pulled out a small English pistol from her bosom.

"This gun may be small, but if I shoot'ya between the eyes, you're _dead!"_ She snarled, and Goku gasped, holding up his hands as if to say he was unarmed.

"You're crazy, girl!" Raditz hissed, and snatched her up, quickly dipping into the shadows, as the window opened, and multiple men peered out, looking down below at Goku, and shooting. Goku dipped and dived around the bullets, yelping out with fear, feeling each bullet bouncing of his skin stinging like bee stings.

"Hey! I! Just! Wanted! To! Say! Hi!" He yelped, inbetween bullets, until at last the barrels were empty, and the guns, smoking. Goku rested against the wall, panting, and went still, hoping that they wouldn't shoot him anymore. The window slammed shut, and all was silent, as Goku at last pulled away from the bullet ridden wall, and brushed his tattered clothing off.

"Whew! Well, _they_ sure aren't friendly!" He panted, then looked around to see where the odd man and women had gone, but he saw nothing but darkness.


	4. May 6th- Angels Amongst Us

Hazy shadows danced across the dining room floor, inbetwixt the flickering light of candles, a whisper of blue, then an all-consuming black.

_Bulesabetha!_

A baritone voice whispered, and Bulma was instantly roused from her daydream, blinking her blue lashes owlishly as the hazy figures drifted away, and out the window. She sat still at the table, her fingers curled tightly around her fork, her eyes open wide, as the things around her were so unbelievable visceral; it was almost as if she could reach out and touch it. But this was a dream, _wasn't it?_ Or, were they remnants of the past, the lingering spirits of two lost lovers, lingering on through time and space?

She gulped, looking for the apparitions, but it seemed like they had never been there, and the flickering candles that had been, were now lamplights aglow on a long hardwood table, with a large length of lace doily, to keep horse flies from crawling across the clean table with their filthy little feet. Panchy Marilyn Murray was the hostess of tonight's dinner, with a guest that was rather interesting, to say the least.

"Oh, Mrs. Murray, I can't get ennuf a' your cooking! I'm starving! Could I get sum'more? A fat little pig said, perking his head up from the old wooden highchair he was sitting in, his stout, stubby legs kicking around gaily as her mother giggled. Panchy remained ever less the wiser, and spooned a heaping mound of her famous Hot Tuna a'la Cacciatore; a strange dish that had no known origin, besides her wild imagination. But it was delightful, as always, no matter how odd the ingredients.

Bulma took a deep breath, and took a long sip of water, watching from across the table as he chattered happily with her parents. Oolong P. I. Grimes, that was his name, and apparently it was their fortune to have struck gold with this particular cadaver; mind you, now that he'd been dressed, in a ratty green bowling cap, and a ugly tweed suit from the morgue, this particular pig was one of the best Private Investigators luck could find, and he hailed all the way from Brooklyn, New York. If on a D train down to Brighton Beach, look for a crab infested, sweaty, sea bird infested undercover clam shack on the 's precisely where you could discover the origin of his foul species, when he wasn't out chasing his latest case.

Apparently, he was here investigating a string of murders, that trailed all across London, and had made it's way down to Italy. He'd been dining at an English Pub, when he'd suddenly fallen off his stool, dying instantly of a massive coronary heart failure. As Bulma looked at his pink complexion, blue and green veins showed from the corners of his mouth, and his eyes still had an odd, murky surface, like glass with too many fingerprints on it. And the smell, _e_ _gads_ he reeked. Like a rotted strip of pork, left out for weeks in the hot sun, to be picked at by buzzards and crawled through like swiss cheese by maggots.

"So's I tell'ya, I was standin there at St. Petah's gate, when all a sudden, you guys was there! Then the big man said, 'Taking the less _traveled_ way out, sir?' An' I says, 'Yeah! Don't keep my seat warm, cuz I'm getting the hell outta town!' " He said, making Panchy's eyes sparkle, and Dr. Murray hum with speculation.

"Oh, gosh! Do tell, did you see the guardian angels? I'm sure they were gorgeous, heaven must be simply marvelous! And you lived to tell the tale!" She said excitedly, and the pig snorted.

"I dinna' see no angels, but I did see my bruddah for a second, say, can a guy get a shot a' sherry 'round here?" He sneered, leaning back in the chair and crossing his hooves.

" _Sherry?_ Great Scott! Are you sure you can handle alcohol in your... _condition..?"_ Dr. Murray said, sitting aways back from the pig, with the cat on his shoulder hiding behind his neck.

"Sherry, Rum, Gin' n Tonic, Vermouth, you name it, I'll drink it! I feel as young and spry as a spring chicken!" He said enthusiastically, pounding one fist on the table. Panchy put a hand to her chin, thinking out loud.

"Well, I _do_ have some dry cooking sherry in the cupboard... will that do, Oolong, dear?"

The little pig nodded eagerly, the flap of skin under his collar where his ribcage once been splayed open like a book slightly peeked through, and stuck to his shirt where yellow pus had oozed out and dried. Bulma placed her hand over her mouth, feeling suddenly nauseated. She forced her gorge down, blinking hard as she tore her eyes away from the sight, and focused her efforts on her prior investigation.

"So, Oolong, tell me more about these murders you were following; who _exactly_ were you tailing?" She said, narrowing his eyes as the pig took his glass of cooking sherry and quickly took a gulp of it, holding it between his digit-like hooves, and raising one fleshy brow at her incredulously.

"It's called _Private_ Investigation for a reason, Ms. Murray. I'm 'fraid I just can't say much more. I've gotta get myself a new identity before anything; and I plan on living out my next life as _inconspicuously_ as possible." He sneered, then slurped from the glass, his snout nearly filling it.

"Why? You chose that career, and from what you say, you weren't half bad at it. Why quit? I'd say now's better than ever a time, seeing as whoever you're tailing must be relieved to hear that you're dead." She countered, and Oolong snorted back. "Ha! Sure. These people have eyes everywhere! They _see_ , and _hear_ all! No, my days of hiding in the shadows, quivering like a slab a' meat in a dark ice locker are over-"

"Daddy, tell him." Bulma smirked, crossing her arms. Her father balked a moment, the newspaper before his face quivering.

 _"Tell_ Mr. Grimes what we recovered from the morgue, when his tattered old suitcase broke open..." She trailed off, her cheeks reddening angrily.

"Ah... p-paraphernalia of the female... No, _indecent_ objects of _Ill_ repute.." He sputtered, the paper quivering.

"Daddy! Just **say** it!" Bulma hissed, and her mother chimed in.

 _"Bloomers!_ Tons and tons of lady's bloomers!~ I've got them soaking in the laundry tub as we speak, I'll have them fresh and clean for you in the morning!~" Panchy blurted out, then giggled like a naughty child as Oolong gasped, and nearly jumped up onto the table.

"You- you all know I- that I'm a _collector_ of-p-pa-" He stuttered out, licking his cracked lips.

" _ **Used** ladies undergarments!_ _"_ Bulma snarled, slamming her hands on the table, her face beet red, as the pig scrabbled back and squealed.

"Now, if you don't want to be labelled all across London as a _letcher..._ You will let us in on your private business!" She scowled, and the pig nodded earnestly, his ears bobbing.

"Well, if you truly have to know, there is actually a _group_ of people that I was hired to tail, and these guys are dangerous. I'm not kidding, they'd shoot the cigar right from your lip if you just look at them the wrong way." He said shakily, and Mrs. Murray topped off his glass of amber liquid, then grated cheese onto his meal.

"Go on dearie, spare us the bloody details if you would, only the essentials. I'm prone to spells of dizziness." She said with a soft giggle, and he began to tell his story.

"The man I've been sent to gain intel on, is from right here in London. I have to gather evidence to link him to a grisly string of murders that all have some very unique methods in their attacks, because they seem to be targeting a specific minority of people, whom we haven't seen much of around since their near genocide in the late 700's. Vaiyans. They're a brutish folk, with odd tails like monkeys. And each and every one of these murders, have been Vaiyan people with their tails, cut clean off."

There was a hush around the room, as the others took this in.

"Oh, that's terrible!" Panchy gasped.

"Truly I don't ever recall having seen a Vaiyan myself, but I have heard tales of such people..." Dr. Murray said, and Bulma was speechless.

"Do these people... come from Trufflesylvania?"

Oolong nodded his head morosely.

"Well, I s'pose it was their homeland for many centuries, until it was invaded, and they were exiled to Vsadala. Then, they came to steal it back, and nearly all them folks was murdered; they were taken by surprise and outnumbered. Ain't you ever heard of Vegeta The Impaler, or Raditz The Terrible?" He said, inbetween snorts of food, which he shovelled into his cheeks as he talked.

"Yes, but... those people are dead." She said softly, her azure orbs luminous in the lamplight.

"Dead, sch'mead, look at me! I'm just sayin', _weird_ things happen where them strange folks is from, and they're being eliminated one by one, regardless of their bloody past, murder is murder, and these hired men ain't dealin' in lemons and peaches no more, those nasty brown tails get a pretty penny on the black market, y'know some _freaks_... Who knows what they do with em, make a fur belt?" He snorted gruffly, and stuffed his cheeks right full. Bulma stood up briskly, and snatched the casserole dish off the table, glaring at him angrily.

"These are people's lives we're talking about! I don't care what they've done in the past, they don't deserve to be murdered over a stupid **tail**!" She snapped, as Oolong reached for the dish, and she moved it farther back.

"No more food until you tell us the truth! There's no way that's the _only_ reason!" She shouted, and Oolong flinched back.

"Right, well you may want to plug your ears for this, or maybe have your mudda' leave the room. If I could, I'd like to finish my food before I regurgitate it all over this lace doily tablecloth..." He said, taking a sip of sherry.

"I'm too caught up in the story now, just say it!" Panchy said, nervously twiddling her lace gloved fingers.

"Well, y'know, that old briefcase of mine? It has a secret compartment, and that's where I keep my case files. Reports, samples from the crime scenes, draw-ups of the murder scenes. I could show you what we've found, but you have to promise to keep this a secret. Because this group of made men, is not only following the Vaiyans for their _tails_. We've gathered shocking evidence that suggests that the last remaining Vaiyans are hunting, and... cannibalizing human prey." He said, and took a long swig of his sherry, then slammed the glass on the table. It was promptly filled, Panchy's hand quivering as she poured it.

"Skin, eyes, lips, fingers, hearts, gone. We don't know where it all goes. It's not possible for a human being to eat their own weight in food like that. But, they put it away. Somehow, Vaiyans have adapted to ingest human flesh in large quantities. It seems they have an insatiable hunger, but nevertheless, I have been hired to entrap _one_ man. Napoli D. Westerna. The other stuff, I leave to the unknown. I don't wanna find out if they have a taste for bacon or not." He snorted, and Bulma stiffened, her fingers loosening on the casserole dish. Panchy attempted to catch it, but Bulma had dropped it like a dead weight when the name, Westerna had hit her ears.

"Launch!" She gasped, then stumbled backwards, her face pallid with fear, then, her eyes grew heavy, and she fell, fainting on the dining room floor.

"Bulma!" Her mother cried, and scrambled to help her daughter, frightened stiff herself. Dr. Murray stood, and motioned to the small piggish man to leave the room, they would finish this morbid conversation alone.

"I told her, you shouldn't have dwelled on it, Bulma my dear, we shouldn't have woken the dead...Saint George's ghost! Perhaps those old tales really **are** true, eh?" He said profoundly, and took the bottle of sherry, guzzling it down, then lowered it, and stared through the amber liquid with a haunted expression, as his wife held his daughter, and wailed.

* * *

Yamcha Harker's Journal- May 6th

It is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed the last 24 hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of my own accord. When I dressed, and returned to the dining room, I found cold breakfast laid out, and coffee kept hot on the hearth. There was a note on the table, which read: _"I have to be absent awhile. I do not wait for me. -V."_

So, I sat down and enjoyed my meal. When I was finished, I looked around for a bell to ring the servants, but there were none. There are certainly some odd deficiencies within this house, considering the obvious abundance of wealth around me. The silverware is gold, some platinum, made with intricate designs on the handles. The table itself, thick mahogany, with a sturdy top, and engraved legs. Even the drapes, and upholstery are of the finest fabrics- somewhat like the things you see in Hampton Court, but can never afford. But those pieces were worn and frayed, moth-bitten even.

He must be a millionaire if he can afford these high quality items, these days. But, the one thing I found odd, was that there are no mirrors. In my room, the washroom, nothing. Luckily, I had a small mirror in my bag, so that I could shave and brush my hair. I haven't seen a single servant anywhere though, nor a sound in this massive castle since I last heard the howling of wolves. That's a memory, I'd not like to repeat.

Yamcha wrote, then closed his log, leaving it resting on the small desk. He paced the small room, peeking out the curtains, seeing that it was a bright, blue skied day, with purple shadows of mountains not far off in the distance. Yamcha sighed, he could not leave the house- not only because he didn't want to be rude, after all, he hadn't asked the count's permission, but also for fear he would never find the exit.

Yamcha exited the room, passing the table and seeing his breakfast plate was gone, and the table was cleared, he felt a small relief knowing Vegeta must be back. He headed to the library, thinking maybe he could find a book to read, and opened the door.

In the library, he found a vast amount of interesting books he could peruse, all of which were in English, the shelves stacked to the top, absolutely overflowing, to Yamcha's pleased delight. He looked around, and saw a table in the center, littered with English magazines and newspapers, but unfortunately, none of them were up to date.

Yamcha perused the many titles, fingering their spines as he mouthed the titles, becoming lost in the small world of the library, until he heard the door open, and The Count entered. He stood there quietly a moment, then swept over, sleek and as silent as a cat, then took the last book he had been perusing, and rested his hand on the paper, closing his eyes as he stroked the page, then flipped them deftly, his eyes darting to and fro; quickly reading the words in quick succession, before slamming the novel closed, and laughing roughly as Yamcha jumped.

"I'm glad you found your way in here, I'm sure you'll find much that interests you. These friends-" He said, patting the book, and putting it away, then laying his hand on a stack of books, and stroking them lovingly.

"... Have been good to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, they have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them, I have come to know your great England; and to know her is to love her. I long to go to your mighty streets of London, to be in the midst of the whirl and and rush of humanity; to share its life, its changes... its death, and all that makes it what it is. But, alas... As of yet, I only know your tongue through books. I'm sure to you, it seems like I know it well, to be able to speak it."

"But Count, you _do_ speak English, and _well!"_ Yamcha said, and Vegeta bowed gravely.

"I thank you my friend, but that's only flattery. True, I know the grammar and the words, but not _how_ to speak them."

"Indeed, you speak them-"

"Not so." He clipped, standing up straight.

"What I know, is that if I were to go to London, everyone there would recognize me as a stranger. Here I am 'boyar' ; I am a master, but in London, I am a stranger. And a stranger in a strange land- he is no-one; men _know_ him not, they _care_ not."

Yamcha pouted, going to interject, but Vegeta stopped him.

"Rest. Stay here awhile, so by our talking, I may come to learn the English intonation, and you can tell me if I make any mistakes. I apologize for being gone so long today, but I'm sure you can forgive me, I had some important matters to attend to."

Yamcha nodded, "I understand, that's why I thought to busy myself with a book, if that's alright?"

"Certainly, you may enter the library whenever you choose, and any of the other rooms that are _not locked._ There is a reason why certain doors must remain locked, and perhaps if you saw for yourself, you would agree."

Yamcha nodded, and Vegeta went on.

"We are in Trufflesylvania; and Trufflesylvania is not England. Our ways, are not _your_ ways, and of them, you may think many strange things. From what you've told me, you know something of what strange things be."

Yamcha nodded enthusiastically, the crucifix on his neck jangling, as Vegeta curled his lip back in disgust at it.

"You should not put your faith in such... _trinkets_ of deceit _._ We are in the land beyond the forest, and such things have no weight here."

Yamcha fiddled with the cross, then tucked it into his shirt, and the count nodded, moving one hand for him to sit, and talk awhile.

"Tell me, what exactly was it that unnerved you on your way here?" He said, taking a seat, and crossing one leg over the other as he straightened out his white gloves. "Something... strange?"

"Very! I saw many strange things, wolves howling, surrounding the calèche, I was almost consumed in some blue inferno, and the driver-"

Vegeta snorted, shaking his head.

"Raditz? He is a hair-brained fool, who can barely find his own shadow in the day." He sneered, then laughed gruffly.

"...So, you've seen the blue flame. Peasants commonly believe, that on the feast of all saints, and only on that day, that where there is blue flame, there is treasure buried."

Yamcha stood up quickly, and pulled open the curtain, making Vegeta flinch back and shield his eyes.

"It was right there! Right in the courtyard! I could go out there and dig it up!"

Vegeta growled, and retreated back to the shadows, seething with wrath.

"Do not seek to steal another man's wealth! For what petty riches I may have, mean nothing without someone to share them with!" He snarled, and suddenly, the curtain was closed, and Yamcha was thrust back into the chair, as Count Vegeta moved swiftly, and pressed him into the seat.

"Enough of this, you _will_ **_not_** dig them up! Swear it! You will not dare search for these places again! If anyone asks you, the driver, the pitiful fool who marked them, say you do not know!"

"You're right! I- I have no right, nor do I know where to look!" Yamcha stuttered, and Vegeta relented, pulling back with warning still simmering in his eyes. Then, he turned away, his arms crossed, and huffed.

"Come, tell me of London, and the house you have procured for me." He said, and Yamcha nodded, standing up shakily from where he'd been sucked into the chair. With the Count's permission, he left to go get his bag. While he was straightening up his papers, he heard the sound of china and silverware rattling in the next room, then as he passed through, he saw that the table had been cleared, and still, no servants in sight.

The sound of tinkling laughter caught his ears, and he quickly turned, feeling a sensation like fingertips grazing across the back of his neck. Yamcha turned back the other way quickly, and the cool touch was gone, he scratched his neck absently, and continued on into his room, gulping as if he were suddenly very thirsty.

* * *

_Caw Caw!_

There was the heavy flapping of wings, and rustling of feathers, as Launch awoke, lifting her head from a pillow, and looking all around her in wonder. As she looked around, blinking with wide, violet eyes, a shadow caught her attention from behind the curtain, and Raditz stepped forth, his boot heels clicking. The dusky shadows reemerging, and forming into what he wore now, a modern, jet black suit, with red pinstripes, nicely tailored to fit his wide shoulders. He wore the same longhorn bolo tie, and wide brimmed hat over his raven hair, a singular black feather, falling from his shoulder, as he stepped forth in quick, long strides to the side of the bed that were almost too fast to discern, as he was weightless, practically levitating in his fine Italian leather boots.

"guten Morgen, meine liebchen Launch. Did you sleep well?" He said quickly; forgetting his Texas accent, looking warily towards the wash of light across the floor, then slipping a ring over his gloved finger with a large, blue jem. Launch was too dazzled by the pretty ring to notice his slip in language, she looked up and simply understood without question.

"...I..suppose it is. I do not ever recall falling to sleep. I've had the most frightening dreams of death crows...flying in dark alcoves, in which crawling spiders lie, deep in the spread of night; waiting for a sweet girl's ankle to bite..." She blinked lazily, her large pupils dilating as they took in the light, shrinking to pinpricks in a sea of amethyst, fading from whimsy.

"Huh? Where are we?" She whispered suddenly, snapping out of her dreamy spell, and Raditz licked his lips, thinking of a clever answer.

"An old apartment that was empty. After all that excitement last night, you passed out. But today is a new day, and we're still here, in beautiful Naples, Italy, as you wished."

Launch smiled, and swung her legs over the bed, still wearing the remains of her red dress that was now mysteriously in tatters, her bustle cage discarded on the floor. Raditz pulled from behind him a pink gingham country dress, with small black polka dots, and a large black bow, along with black, lace-up patent leather boots.

"Walking boots? When should I ever require these?" She pondered, opening one up, and loosening the laces.

"This shall be more fitting, for where we're going." He said, and Launch took the garments, feeling the fabric of the dress with pleasure, and finding with surprise that the shoes fit perfectly.

"Where to, oh please, do say a stroll in the countryside? I would enjoy the fresh, fragrant air, to be out of the bad air and into the good air shall do wonders for my health!" She inquired, eagerly.

"I've requested a presence with your father, and he's agreed. We're to arrive at his orchard by noon."

Launch stood up, and clapped her hands happily.

"Oh, thank goodness! I've heard so much of my father's fruit gardens! I cannot wait! Thank you so much, Raditz!" She said happily, and hugged him, burying her face in the breast of his jacket, as he curled his arms around her back, pulling her indigo curls away from her shoulder.

"Of course." He murmured into her throat, with a purring rasp, making Launch sigh breathily, clinging to him, as his breadth folded in around the small woman.

"You're so sweet to me!" She giggled, and he grinned, kissing her delicate shoulder, then opening his mouth against it, his heated breath warming her cool flesh, as well as his sharp red tongue tickling her shoulder, making her quiver.

"Oh my," She gasped, and he pulled back with a sharp intake of breath, his eye teeth gently grazing her skin, twin thin trails of blood glistening.

"You will look like an angel sent to Earth. Plus, I'm to assume the skirts have been lifted, in order to avoid the filth dragging into the door." Raditz licked his lips, his eyes flashing crimson.

"Is that why it's got shite kicking nanny boots?" Launch said innocently, her British slang coming out unabashedly, as she turned towards the mirror, unaffected. Raditz was taken aback a small amount, then chuckled, his pale olive face slightly pinking from her boldness that made him grin devilishly.

" _Ja_ \- yes...?" He stuttered slightly, watching the curve of her back as the bustle cage had been removed, and she shifted in the gauzy fabric temptingly.

"Raditz, you spoiler. You're tooth-rotteningly sweet to me, isn't that it, then?" She smirked, her plum eyes glinting over her shoulder coquettishly. He slunk forth, looming closer to observe her careful examination of the tender items.

" **Only** for you, all others I am bitter towards." He muttered softly, his white gloves clasped at his back tightening, as his tail twitched from where it was hidden, snaked down into his pantleg.

She modelled the dress against her body, a moment, smiling coyly at her own reflection, then saw a lacy black Victorian hat tilted against the mirror, with long Ostrich feathers. She gasped, and ran to pick up the hat, turning it in her hands, admiring the small, chartreuse and rose feathered taxidermied lovebirds kissing beaks on the brim, then glancing back at him in question.

"Is this not mine as well? You were neglect to mention if I should need a hat, but I would like _very_ much to have it. An unflattering sunburn on my nose would be utterly _terrible_ to have..." She said, as if it were a question; but it was double pronged, he did not wish for her to have a sunburn, but he _did_ want to see the satisfied expression she made when she had her politely crafted demands met. Launch Lucy Westerna had been spoiled, the one flaw in her absent father's way of buying her affection; she now believed any man who wished to marry her should do the same, or he is not worth a lick of her time.

"Please, Raditz, darling, don't lie to me and say you've _enjoyed_ a lady here before...?" She seethed softly, and Raditz's eyes widened.

_'Enjoyed?' She couldn't mean...? She must mean **intimately**? Oh... I've got no worries there, then... only spoils the hunt._

He licked his lips, quickly looking around the room for any other odd evidence he had neglected to hide away, then nodded vigorously, giving her a generous smile.

"Not at all, it is yours! I hope the hat fits. It shall provide immense _shade_...for your delicate complexion... You are my only lady, Launch. Don't worry yourself, none are prettier than thee." He said carefully, watching her closely with smouldering eyes as she put on the hat, and turned quickly to look at herself, holding the dress to herself, and positioning the hat with one hand, as Raditz exhaled from behind her, suddenly stepping away from the mirror where only her reflection could be seen.

Launch was too distracted in squealing with her sheer delight to notice his quick movement as the curtains fluttered behind them. Small dew drops of dried blood splatter still remained, drying on the window pane, which dripped down the side of the building, and onto the sidewalk, where a black parasol rolled and bounced across the cobblestone on the balmy summer wind, left abandoned, where it had been recently discarded.

* * *

DEED OF PURCHASE

An ornate, tightly drawn signature is made beneath, signing Vlad, Vegeta III.

Yamcha seals the deed, with the hot waxen seal.

"There, Count, you are now the owner of Carfax Abbey at Purfleet." He said with a smile, extending his hand to shake on it.

Vegeta clasps his hand with both of his, and squeezes, as Yamcha bites his lip to keep from screaming out in agony, as it feels like his bones are being stressed to the very limit of breakage. Vegeta releases him with a sneer, crossing his arms over his chest; making the muscle beneath his tight white sleeves bulge. Yamcha gulps, then diverts his eyes back to the Count's face.

"Your employer, that... Master Roshi... writes that you are a man of good... taste." He sneers, as if smirking at a private joke. Yamcha nods, his hands on his hips.

_He must be talking about Bulma, that old letcher..._

"He says you are a worthy substitute for your predecessor, Mr. Renfield..."

Yamcha's chest puffs as he grins, realizing that he is being complimented.

"Oh, yes! You can count on me, Count! Hehe. I'm honored to be your personal solicitor, and handle all your investment needs! I've brought the photo plates of Carfax and other properties around London- per your request." Yamcha boasts with pride, quickly rifling through his binder for them, he places them on the desk, and Vegeta leans down, looking at them in wonder. It was as if he had never seen a photo plate, ever.

Yamcha turns, seeing Vegeta's atlas, and red circles marked on it, of every ace he had mentioned. Purfleet, Exeter, Hillingham, the docks at London, the 10 properties, including a foundry- Harker estates. Yamcha pauses, taken off guard slightly, then shakes his head.

_I must do my job, and that's to sell._

"Look, here Count, Carfax is here, in Purfleet-Just West from London! And my home is in Exeter, so we'll be neighbors."

"I'm sure, my close _friend_ Harker Yamcha will come to visit me? Sorry- Yamcha, Harker, as you say. It is not necessary that I should know this, your name, your home. I will be alone in _my_ home, and you will not be there to aid me, _you_ will be miles away in Exeter, with my other acquaintance, Master Roshi, working on law papers, and having tea! Hmph."

Vegeta looks back down stubbornly at the photo plates, engrossed in them. Yamcha is not dissuaded by the Count's insults, it's a good observation, after all.

"Forgive my curiosity, but why buy 10 houses in such precise locations? Is it to increase the market value? Is this your strategy-" He began, but Vegeta was not hearing him at all, he was lost in the images, he traces his fingers across the photoplates, looking wistfully on with a small smile.

"Your London, she is beautiful." He whispered, as Yamcha picked up a plate to show him a different one, and a small object slid out from between, knocking over a bottle of Indigo blue India ink, which spilled onto the small, round framed photoplate of Bulma. Vegeta took a sharp intake of breath, frozen stiff. Her small smile beckons to him, and he picks it up carefully, the blue ink spilling down, and giving her the look of long azure hair. He strokes the face of the photo, and a soft rumble erupts from somewhere deep in his chest, as his dark eyes focus intently on the photo, and grow wistful as he gazes, lost in thought.

_Bulesabetha... Is it possible, that time has been altered for us? To be together once again- our destiny..._

"Oh, you found Bulma! I thought she was lost. We're to be married as soon as I return." Yamcha said, standing besides the Count, as he admired the photo. Vegeta shook his head of spiky locks, grunting as he handed back the small photo, his thoughts cut off by the other's interruption.

"Yes, I'm sure she will definitely make a more than lovely wife for you. And you, a ever 'faithful' husband." Vegeta sneers, turning back to look at the photo plates. Yamcha pauses to wipe the blue ink off the glass with a handkerchief, before shivering, feeling a cold chill behind him, and the soft rustling like silky fabrics. Yamcha whirls around, searching the room, startled, he hears a soft feminine giggle, and whirls around, hearing them coming from all directions, but no matter where he looked, nothing. It was maddening, and yet Vegeta seemed to not notice at all. After a moment it falls silent again, and Yamcha clears his throat, remembering his manners, and comes up beside the Count, seeing the red bejeweled ring on his white gloved finger again.

"You'll have to come meet Bulma when you come to London, she would just love you! Are you married? I was just wondering, seeing as you wear that spectacular ring..." Yamcha said chipperly, and noticed his host's face was hard, set into stone with a bitter expression.

"...Count, Sir? Are you-"

"I was... once. But that was a very long time ago, and there was no other like her..." He said, and turned away briskly, lowering his head to stare into the hearth once again with a far-off expression.

"That's enough of those old memories for now. Those days are long gone, when this castle would be full of mirth, and the light of life. Now the stone is cracked, it's battlements worn, a cold breeze blows through its cracked casements. I seek not a brand new home, but to live in one that has been lived in, for one so bright would be the death of me. We Vaiyans are not pleased by summer sunshine, sparkling water, nor that which pleases the young. I am old, I would wish for my bones to rest not among the common dead, but alongside my ancestors, if this endless day is ever to end. I wish to see a second life, one where perhaps; I may have just a sliver of those rays, and voluptuous days." Vegeta said, his baritone voice carrying throughout the walls, and echoing as Yamcha looked on, wide-eyed. Somehow, his words and his look did not match up, perhaps it was the cast of the flames on his face, but his smile seemed malignant and saturnine.

With a quick excuse, the Count left him, and told him to get his papers in order. Yamcha sat down in a chair, and pulled a book over, and began flipping through it, to somehow distract himself from his strange persistent thoughts. Then, against his better judgment, he decided to further investigate the Count's choices in properties.

* * *

The luscious scent of warm peaches fills his nostrils as Goku totes a large carton of fruit towards the docks, where the fruit will be shipped away to other countries. He smiles, a small pep in his step as he whistles a tune, and steps up to the ship bay, handing it to another dock boy to lower down into the storage level.

"How many more, would'ya say?" Goku calls down, and a sailor waves.

"This big bambino can carry twice as much, run on back, would you, Gokuseppe? We'll get er' loaded up." He called back, and Goku nodded, waving as he ran back to the wooden wagon, and swung back up onto the old carriage, slapping the side to let the driver know they were ready. The other boys smiled, the juice of the fresh peaches running down their chins and parting the dirt that dusted their sweaty tawny skin.

"Whew! Hot day, isn't it?" Goku said, pulling a bruised peach from the discarded carton the young boys were all sharing, and biting in. "If we can get enough lemons, can we make lemonade?" A boy asked, and Goku nodded, ruffling his hair.

"If we can find some clean water, I'll squeeze you boys up a nice batch. After all, you're hard workers." Goku said warmly, and relaxed with his burly arms hanging over the wooden siding, as the cart began to bounce on the dirt road. He wiped his brow with an old hankercheif, and sighed, enjoying the sight of the tall cypress trees lining the path down to the great orchard, where there was a large iron wrought gate, with the initials _N.D.W_ in gothic lettering. The gate swung open with a long creak, and the carriage came down the hill towards the loop, when when they swung around the country cottage, they would see colorful fruit bearing trees for miles.

...

The black, venitian parasol cast shadows over a lovely spread of golden coils, spilling down tanned shoulders, a dark freckle on the swell of one shoulder blade giving her back a sultry appearance, as the curve of it delicately tucked into the pink gingham corset. Launch Westerna held the hem of her ruffled polka-dotted dress up carefully, as Raditz Quincey Morris held her delicate wrist with one hand, escorting her down the great garden paths. The large shadow of Napoli D. Westerna joins them, smiling widely with white pearly teeth, a fat cigar clenched between them as he shakes Raditz's hand vigorously, and Raditz does the same.

" _Buon pomeriggio_ , welcome!" Napoli rumbled, and Raditz nodded curtly.

"Greetings, It is a pleasure to meet you." He said back politely, watching as Napoli took his daughter's hand and kissed it, then pulled her in for a hug.

"Hi Papa!" She said, and kissed him on the cheek, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Heheh, It was such a great surprise to see you here, bella, I had no idea my daughter would be coming _here_ \- to see _me!"_ Napoli said exuberantly in his rolling baritone, as he clasped her other arm in his large palm, and gestured towards the orchard.

Some filthy little worker boys went by, and they ignored them, only moving away a few inches.

" _Scusi!"_ Goku said, toting a ladder, as the younger boys carried baskets to fill with peaches and lemons. The upper class moved aside, then ignored them completely, continuing their conversation.

"...I haven't seen you in months, and now you're _surprised_ I'd show up unannounced, Papa you _never_ come home to see me, and when you do, it's always urgent, and short lived." Launch said with a pout, her nose lifted into the air. "Sweet-pea, I give you all a girl could ask for, you have an entire estate of your own! This here is only my work, do you think I _like_ working all the time?" Nappa bargains, his thick moustache not concealing his deep frown, as he eyes the man besides her, Raditz looks back to him with the same deep-set frown.

"Perhaps the girl would like to breathe the fresh air outside her sheltered walls, I have taken her farther across the world than she has ever travelled in her quaint solitary existence." Raditz quipped back, and Napoli stiffened, his thick brows furrowing.

"And who are you, to steal away my daughter, to these trips through the unknown? What happened to the other suitors, were they not rich enough? If your mother was alive, she wouldn't allow you to promenade yourself like market goods, all about town!" Nappa growled, and Launch tossed her head back and groaned petulantly. Goku looked back from where he was climbing the ladder, after hearing raised voices. His brows lowered, and he watched intently; a sense of dread and recognition in his onyx eyes.

"Can we not talk about this!? I have already chosen Mr. Morris as my fianceé, was he not hand-selected by you?" She whined, resting her head on Raditz's shoulder.

"Yes, but I'd never _met_ the man! He _said_ he was a Texan, he _sounds_ and _looks_ Eastern European." Nappa scowled, and Raditz stiffened.

"I assure you, I was born in America you see, but I have a lineage of proud Trufflomanian ancestors." Raditz snapped back, and Nappa's voice rumbled with bitter laughter.

"Trufflomanian, Texan, do not feed me this nonsense! You're a full blooded _Vaiyan!_ I know the type, you think I want my daughter's hand taken by a _scimmia scoiattolo **sporca**!"_ He snarled, and Raditz stopped in his tracks, turning his face to challenge him.

"Take that back! I'd thrust your _fat arsch_ up on a bayonet, if it doesn't **break** it!" Raditz growled.

Goku nearly fell from the ladder with his surprise at all the slurs in language, he caught a tree branch as the ladder fell, clinging onto it, and wrapping his legs around the tree.

" ** _Shuddup!_** Both of you, this instant! You're _not_ stabbin my Papa in the arse, and my Raditz is _not_ a dirty squirrel monkey! Where the hell would you get that kinda idea?!" She sputtered, holding them both with a tight grip to keep them apart.

Nappa eyed Raditz closely, and narrowed his eyes on him, but Raditz did not back down, his dark eyes glaring back, the pupils expanding and contracting.

"He's a liar! I know a Vaiyan when I see one! Pull your pants down now, and we'll prove it! This man has a tail!" Napoli snarled back, and Launch's eyes widened, looking to Raditz; stunned by the glowing redness of his russet eyes.

"...I told you, I am from Texas. My true name is Raditz Quincey Morris. I will not deny that my mother was from western Trufflomania, and my father from Trufflesylvania. We came to America to escape the opposition, but we have never had a trace of Vaiyan blood in our family.

You **will allow** me to court Launch Lucy Westerna. I will take her to America, where we will stay at my horse ranch. When we return, she will have the opportunity to throw a party, where you will present her with these other suitors.

Then, we will each have the equal opportunity to take the lady's hand." Raditz said, slowly and sternly, as Launch looked on curiously, as her father listened, with a dazed look in his eyes.

A long moment passed, then the two men looked away from eachother with a clap of Raditz's white gloves, then he made the hand gesture of a dog barking, and Nappa looked suddenly startled.

" _What was **that**_ _?_ You hear that, a stray dog! If I catch those little mutts pissing on my baby lemon trees, I'll _castrate_ em'!" He growled, and Launch patted her father on the chest to distract him.

"What are you _talking_ about, Papa? There is no dog!" She said, tilting her head.

"Must have been these old trees talking!" Nappa laughed heartily, and threw his arm around the both of them, continuing leading them down the grassy path, watching to make sure his daughter didn't trip over the roots of the overhanging peach trees.

Goku blinked, looking confused by the exchange in conversation. He had heard no dog, but the way Napoli reacted was as if it had barked directly in his ear.

"Are you alright, Gokuseppe?" A boy called up, and he nodded, hopping down easily.

"Sí, I'm alright. Go on ahead and take these to the carriage, capisce?" He said, and the little boys nodded, letting him load their arms up with the heavy baskets.

"But what about the lemonade?"

"Later, I'll see you all later! Take my cut of the payment and get you a nice sugar loaf, and an ice block, alright? You can all have a few chips!" He said softly, and the boys nodded eagerly, running off with the baskets in tow.

Nappa sniffed sharply, and exhaled the sweet cloying scent of ripe peaches, and the tartness of juicy lemons, exhaling a heavy puff of thick cigar smoke. He plucked a peach from a tree branch, and handed it to Launch, then kissed her rosy cheeks. His daughter took the fruit and cradled it to her chest coyly, as they reached the center of the gardens, where there was an immense fountain, with streams of water falling and splashing on the white stone marble, surrounded by grecian pillars, along with engraved statues of the gods and goddesses.

Goku walked behind them carefully, ducking behind a pillar, as Launch was escorted beneath a large archway covered with vines, and the three stood in the cool mist, admiring the artwork around them, yellow roses crawling up and brightening the leafy green gardens.

"Launch, I was thinking. How about I allow Mr. Morris the special chance to court you, and take you on a trip to his horse ranch in Texas? There he can show you the land he owns, and you can have a taste of the American life. I only want what is best for you, my daughter. Promise you will write to your old father?" Napoli said warmly, leaning down to tuck a shimmering gold strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yes, father, but what made you change your mind so quickly?" She said, puzzled, glancing back at Raditz, who removed his hat and smiled.

"Ah, call it a father's intuition! My baby girl is in amore! I'll throw you the grandest ball you ever did see! I would like to give each suitor a fighting chance, sweet-pea. Invite your friend, Bulamina! It will be a lovely evening for all." He said kindly, the tanned, leathery skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiled genuinely, and she jumped up and hugged her father enthusiastically.

_"Oh, Papa! I love you!"_

"I love you too, sweet-pea." He said, and kissed her forehead, as Raditz smiled, then quickly turned to look in Goku's direction. Goku froze, ducking back swiftly, his heart racing. He closed his eyes, and saw a flash of red, then curses spoken quickly and angrily in Vaiyan. Raditz's eyes widened, his nostrils flaring, the tail tucked down his pantleg twitching.

Goku froze up again, gritting his teeth, as the red splashed again in his mind, blood, everywhere, fallen bodies pumping it out in gallons, as two angular shadows loomed before him, where as he looked up, his vision began to blur and fuzz, and he heard a startling exclamation.

_"The blood is the life, and it shall be mine!"_

Goku's heart nearly stopped, then he heard soft laughter, as Napoli and Raditz fawned over Launch, whose delicate nature had caused her to sneeze and transform, and the blue haired girl had for a moment, completely captivated the two men she had captured in the palms of her tiny hands. Goku took his chance and quickly jumped up, flying away, away from the orchard, and the odd denizens within.

* * *

Later that Day, Yamcha's Journal.

It had been over an hour since I had begun my research, and now I was pouring over an English almanac, examining recordings of wars from all around the world, searching for any mention of the elusive Order of The Oozaru Vegeta had mentioned, but having little luck. There was no tapping to alert me when the Count swung open the door, and waltzed in, seemingly more lively, as he pulled the book away and shut it, making me startle a little in my seat.

"Enough reading! Come, you've had your nose buried in a book long enough, didn't you smell the meat roasting?" He said with a swarthy chuckle, and pulled me up roughly by the arm. I did felt my stomach stir, and so I nodded, time had gotten away from me, and I was very hungry.

"Dinner has just been served! Let us dine!" Vegeta exclaimed with bravado, and pulled me into the dining room, placing me into a chair, pushing it in and tucking a napkin in my collar so quickly, I didn't have the chance to protest.

"Look at you! You're ready to eat now, aren't you? We've got such a bountiful feast to share in!" The Count said amicably, his dark eyes glistening, and his caramel skin glowing with youth, unlike our prior encounter. The food _did_ smell good, so I didn't complain. Vegeta quickly pulled a platter of roasted boar towards himself, grinning widely enough that I could see his oddly glistening canines.

"Grab a portion quick now, before it's gone. You frail english types, you could use more meat on your bones! Then maybe you'd have a fighting chance to grapple with the likes of the Oozaru!" He chuckled with enthusiasm, then forked a large section of meat, and tore a chunk off, chewing through the gristle and fat with ease, gulping it down quickly.

"About this Order- is there another translation perhaps, or some type of alternative meaning to the word, because I cannot find it anywhere..." I began, then sighed with resignation, watching as Vegeta fell into that strange state once again while he ate; his eyes glazed over and he only grunted in response. It was highly erratic, as if he were some type of wild animal, but the longer I watched, the more my stomach turned, so I unfortunately forgot my question, and began to pick at my own portion.

Later, we retired to lounge by the fire like we had before, smoking cigars, and talking on almost every subject that piqued Vegeta's interest. He had questions about everything, which I was quick to answer. The Count was highly intrigued by every conceivable subject; technology, science, the recent history of London, and even the small intrinsic details of my day to day life, until before I knew it, we had been sitting there talking for _hours!_

I looked out the window and saw how late it was growing, but was hesitant to protest. Vegeta was in such an amicable mood, and as his guest, I didn't want to be rude, but I was incredibly tired and thirsty at this point, my throat was growing sore from the cigar smoke and nonstop talking. Luckily, I wasn't sleepy, as my long rest the day before had given me fortification; but I could not help but experience the chill that comes over one with the coming of the dawn, which is like, in some way, the turning of the tides.

They say that people who are near death die generally at the change from dawn, or at the turn of the tide; anyone who has been this tired, or tied to as if it were a guard post, and has experienced this, can attest to feeling this change in the atmosphere, and confirm it.

At once, we heard the crow of the rooster coming up with a prenatural shrillness that cleaved through the clear morning air; and Count Vegeta quickly jumped to his feet, and said- "Why, it's morning again! How terrible a host I am to have kept you up for so long! You must make our conversations of great England less interesting, so that next time I won't forget the time!" He exclaimed, and with a courtly bow, he left me.

I went back to my room, tired, and took a long refreshing drought of water from the tap. After, I stepped out and peered through the window, which looked over the courtyard; all I saw was the warm, grey quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains once again, and with that, I have written of this day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, we're getting more into my own narrative, and less into the original, but don't worry, much of the encounters with Vegeta and Yamcha will remain the way you remember them, with subtle twists. I've been absent awhile because I was actually researching! I've been studying the Victorian Age, and I found it to be very intriguing! I hope that my writing reflects my new education, and that you enjoyed the small snippets of information throughout. Also, please take the description of different countries, and my use of foriegn language lightly, English is my language, I have some schooling in French, but the German I taught myself years ago for a prior novel. Italian I am somewhat familiar with because it was spoken in my family, as well as Hungarian but that's not exactly prevalent to this story. I've actually never been out of the U.S, so these are just my fictional imaginings of other countries. Just know that I appreciate all the cultural differences portrayed, and I only am writing what I know from some quick research and the media. If there are any corrections, feel free to educate me on them and I will gladly fix any errors.
> 
> Bonus for anyone who caught the song, and album references in this chapter, comment if you know the band!


	5. May 8th - 10th

The calèche makes its journey towards America, hidden amongst the clouds; sweet Launch sits inside, twirling a lock of indigo hair around a reddish finger with a white bandage wrapped around it. She sits politely, with her cage skirt bunched off to the side, writing in her diary. Raditz sits beside her, watching her with amused, warm russet eyes, that then look past her, smiling slightly as he can see out far over the great blue ocean, and towards the coast.

**May 8th. Launch Lucy Westerna's Diary.**

It has been only a few hours since our departure from Italy, and I am itching to see the beautiful shores of the Americas! I simply cannot wait! I am overjoyed that my father was so convinced by Raditz's request, I find my love has such an amazing way with words. We shall be landing there very shortly. I will never cease to be amazed by Raditz's magic with his hands, he has educated me all about how he coaxes the stallions to fly with magnetic levitation! Dr. Murray would absolutely love to see this trick, seeing as it was his ancestor who coined the term, and displayed it with his Drewer's Coil.

"Little Launch. Look out the window." Raditz says softly, nudging her shoulder to rouse her from her excited writing. She turned her head, and he parted the blinds, moving back into the shadow as she turned to look out, and jumped up with her glee upon seeing land.

"Oh, it's everything I'd imagined! What an _expansive_ stretch of land! How long til we reach Texas?" Launch asked giddily, hanging over the window sill to look down at the ocher red sands, from which only small tufts of green sprouted out of the dry land masses that was at the time, New Spain, and further, out of sight was the Louisianas where Raditz's home was.

"A few more hours, nothing more." Raditz responded, tilting the brim of his large, flat hat slightly, shading his reddish brown eyes from the setting sun.

"It'll be dark by then, how will we see?" Launch said softly, stepping back, and going to take a seat, but Raditz pulled her onto his knee, removing his hat to come closer to her face. He took her hand, and smiled.

"I have eyes trained in the dark. To hunt like a wolf, you must _see_ like a wolf." He whispered, taking her hand in his white gloved one, and stroking the back of it as he kissed it.

"Trust me. You trust me, don't you?" He said gently, and Launch turned her face away slightly.

"I've come to know you...I've kissed you..." She whispered, turning back with wide eyes to gaze at him.

"You've kissed me. You've sat, and talked with me all this time. I've come to take you home with me, and show you just how true I am. Launch, I... I've become more than just your secret lover, your suitor. Aren't we **friends**?" He said seriously, staring into her violet eyes.

"Yes, we're friends, Raditz. I can't deny that I've made quicker friends with _you_ than any of the other men... But I'd hate to tell them that without giving them a fighting chance, so... I'm afraid I cannot make you any promises." She sighs, turning her eyes away. She blinks away a tear, shivering as the hand resting on her back seems unnaturally heated through her dress.

" **Who** is he, if there is another you love, you'd tell me _immediately?"_ Raditz rumbles, and she quivers, seeing how the bulk beneath his black overcoat slightly expands.

Launch looked down at his hand in her lap, stroking the back of hers carefully as she thought back, to that day when Bulma had visited, and she had been proposed to by one man already before Raditz was the second one, then a third after that. The three rings sparkled on her fingers, as he grazed his fingers over his carefully, and she looked down at the lovely sapphire ring he had given her, with wistful eyes.

"As you know, of my suitors you are number two. The third is Lord Holmwood. Mister Piccolo is a man of little words and many riches. He is quite resolute and most clever. He has such a glare, that I _swear_ he is trying to delve deep into my mind. I find him an interesting nut to crack. He says that my flighty nature, combined with a healthy libido requires a man who is no-nonsense, and straight to the punch. He's outright told me, or rather, _educated_ me that he will romantically love me, and though he is not a _natural_ deviant, he shall physically stimulate me with his artificial phallic machine as much as necessary until I can remain _docile_ , then when I desire to become pregnant he will artificially inseminate me. We decided perhaps two children would be preferable, one boy, and one girl." She said, seemingly mollified by the agreement, and Raditz nodded, listening and yet; his fangs were just barely showing, the hairs on back of his neck bristling as both hands clenched, the knuckles of his white gloves straining as he thought of Launch being treated like some type of experimental **_farm animal...!_**

"Yes, then. There's the first one. Dr. Tien Shinhan, why I met him through Sir Piccolo. He's the Lunatic Asylum man. He owns this immense mansion, and he is only nine and twenty. He spoke to me very cool, outwardly. Though, for a man so _cool_ , he sat upon his silk hat within minutes of meeting with me, which men who are not nervous typically **don't** do.

He then proclaimed to me how dear I was to him, and asked if I too was in love with him? He moaned about how unhappy he would be if I did not feel the same way for him.

I told him perhaps I could love him with time, but that his heart was not yet mine." She said longingly, sighing heavily. Raditz removed her hand from his grip, searching under the seat for the bottle of plum wine. He found it, uncorking it, his nostrils flared as he sniffed it.

"Dear Quincy, Raditz... You're cross with me. _Please, don't be!"_ Launch pleaded, tugging on his coat, as he poured the thick viscous liquid down his throat. She burst into tears, and shook him, demanding his attention, until he turned back and took her by arms carefully.

"If I'm cross with you, it's because I've been such a fool. To think that you could love me, _alone_ , when you are so capable on your own... Perhaps I am too forward to be saying this, but... Launch, will you hitch up alongside my calèche, and let us go down the long road together, driving in double harness?" He said, making her laugh unexpectedly. Raditz kissed her cheek, swiping the tears away with his thumb.

"Raditz, you know I've already said yes." Launch giggled, blushing coyly at him through her teary amaranthine eyes.

"Launch, you are an honest girl. ...If you truly do love either of these fellows, I will never trouble you a hair's-breadth again, but I would _always_ be a faithful friend." Raditz said reassuringly, and Launch looked down, feeling bad for having almost made fun of this sweet man. She felt very guilty, and wished she could make them all happy, and just marry all three men, and save them the trouble. She lifted her chin and looked bravely into Raditz's eyes, and told him her thoughts, with no hesitation.

"Yes, there is someone **I** love. But he hasn't told me that he loves _me_ yet." She said frankly, and his features lit up with a warm light at her words.

"That's my girl. Brave, too sweet for this world. Don't cry for me. If in fact he is not me, I can take it standing up. Little Launch, your honesty and pluck have made me your dear friend, and that's even rarer than a lover. My love, I am to have a lonely walk between this, and the world's ending long to come. Won't you give me one kiss, to keep away the darkness? If you can, for the one fellow who deemed you _should_ , and would theoretically love him, or for the other who begged you to love him. Then, the last fellow must be a very lucky man, for you to love him, but he hasn't yet spoken." He said, pulling her closer up to him, as she gripped the lapels of his jacket, sniffling as she stared up at him, examining his deep, mournful eyes, and feeling she could not help but to lean closer and tilt her head towards his, her neck displayed willingly. Raditz pulled her into him; understanding that he had no rival, he clutched the back of her indigo coils and revelled in his spoils, devouring her lips with his, parting her mouth to graze his tongue along the silky interior of her sweet lips, and tangle his luscious plum brandy flavor with hers, making him hiss inwardly as she tasted him back; feeling a familiar resonance of his heart fluttering within, which he hadn't felt in many long, lonesome years without a woman by his side. She had been truly won by him, this brave, sweet, noble man, through no bewitching black magic, no destiny, only two hearts finding one another.

Raditz pulled back to allow the little woman to breathe; licking his teeth at their parting, watching how her chest was heaving with each hitching gasp, and seeing how madly she was gazing at him, her cheeks reddened; aroused so that her red lipsticked little mouth was shining with moisture as she smiled at him, and pulled him down to her by his bolo tie, hitching up her cage skirts as she pulled herself up onto him.

"If I'm yours, why don't you take your prize..?" She whispered, scooting dangerously close onto his lap, pulling him slowly closer with the ties, the tiny ivory skull sliding up, and asphyxiating him slightly, tendons standing out on his thickly chorded throat as he gulped hungrily.

"Little.. **witchy** woman..." Raditz purred, and Launch giggled, leaning over and nipping his throat, while gripping his black spiky hair between lacquered red nails, she was pulled down into his darkness, his deft, puppetry hands tugging at her corset ties, two crimson needle-point eyes glinting over her pale shoulder as the calèche continued to roll, gracefully across the sky.

* * *

**May 8th. Yamcha Harker's Journal.**

I was beginning to fear as I wrote in this book that I was becoming overly consumed by my anxiety, but now I'm glad I've gone into such great detail ever since these strange happenings have began, because there is hope that if I were not the only one to hear it, maybe others would believe it. I wish that I had never come here, the only one here is the Count and he...I've only found during our nightly talks, which have begun to wear on me. I fear that I am the only living soul within this place. As a matter of fact, I should record exactly what happened that has put me in this state, so that maybe I can look at it in a more logical light, and keep my imagination from running away on me!

If run riot, it does... then I am lost. Nevertheless, this is where I stand at present on the matter.

I had only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling restless, I got up. I hung my shaving glass by the window, and began to shave.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard the Count's voice saying to me, "Good morning." I was startled, it amazed me that I hadn't seen him enter the room, seeing as the glass was aimed to face the entire room behind me. In startling, I cut myself slightly, but not enough to notice it. Having heard the Count, I turned the glass again, to confirm my mistake in judgment. This time, there could be no mistaking it, the Count was right beside me, and I could see him over my shoulder, but there was _no reflection_ of him in the mirror! This was startling; adding only to my suspicions, and further fueling my vague uneasiness when the Count was near. In that instant, I saw the cut was bleeding, and blood was running down to my chin.

"Take care how you cut yourself, especially in these parts." Count Vegeta said, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, clutching me firmly by the throat, and cleaning my cheek with the handkerchief carefully. I gulped, feeling his grip around my throat, it was odd how with one hand he was so careful to wipe up each drop of blood, and yet with the other, he held me firmly as if to keep me from escaping.

Done, Vegeta released me, deftly tucking the silk cloth back into a point in his front pocket. I turned to inspect the cut in the mirror, and heard a sudden low growl from behind, as he snatched the mirror up with incredible speed, and tossed it out the window, the mirror smashing far below. I watched, astounded, and looked back at him in question.

"A **foul** object of vanity. Perhaps you should grow a beard." He snorted, then whirled around, storming out of the room, his black and red cape carrying on the wind of his anger. As he stormed away, my eyes must have deceived me, because I could have sworn I saw a flicking brown tail like that of an angry cat, bristling from out of his back. But that, I know for a **fact** is over-exaggerating. The door clanked, and Count Vegeta was gone.

I sunk against the wall, my heart racing rapidly, and was startled to hear the sound of soft rustling coming from behind me, I turned around, and opened the window, leaning out to look down at the sheer wall over the precipice below. I looked up, and saw a dark figure with it's cloak spread out, like great wings around it. It hesitates, making a chattering purr, then scurries away like some type of lizard creature, disappearing into a crack in the structure.

I quickly pulled myself back inside, and upon returning, I noticed the sound of my door knob rattling violently, and whirled around to stare at it, but it had suddenly stopped. Then, breathy feminine laughter erupted out around me, and as soon as I turned back, frantically looking back out the window, the laughter cut off. Nothing could have survived climbing that sheer rock wall. A stone falling from the window would fall for thousands of feet with _nothing touching it!_ As far as the eye can reach there is a sea of green tree tops, with an occasional dark rift of a chasm, here and there, golden threads where the river Arges winds into the forest.

But, I am not at heart now to describe beauty. After, I went to the dining room, and saw breakfast was already prepared, and so I had breakfast alone. After breakfast, I explored the castle, looking for the source of the women's laughter, thinking perhaps they were servant girls, and if I could find them, I could have proof that I am _not alone!_ But, all I found were doors, doors everywhere, all locked and bolted! In no place, save for the windows, is there any exit! _This place is a prison, and I am it's prisoner!_

* * *

A small carriage totes Bulamina Murray in the sweltering heat, from her father's mansion, to Westerna manor. The driver rings a bell, and the gates swing open, horses trotting down the empty path. Bulma is inside the stagecoach, fanning her pale face with a yellowed chinese fan. She is dressed in her black-over dress she wears for her work as a school mistress, with white layers between her brown trousers smartly worn underneath, with black high heeled boots. Her blue locks are carefully tucked into a bun, exposing the nape of her neck as she tilts her head down, a small black hat on her crown.

The carriage rolls to a stop, and the driver opens the door, offering his hand to her as she exits, then gathering up a few bags of luggage for her. "Thank you," She says kindly, and steps up to the entrance, rapping the heavy iron door knocker on the dense oak. After a few moments of this, it swings inwards, and she is met with one of the Westerna's servants.

"Good afternoon to you, Miss Bulma. What brings you to Westerna Manor?" He asked, swinging the door open to let her in. The driver sets down her bags, and she turns to the servant with an expression of dread clear on her face.

"Wasn't I _expected?_ Where is Launch? I need to know _immediately!"_ She shouts out hurriedly, gripping him by his lapels. The man looks startled, backing away slightly.

"The lady Launch left oh, two, three days ago? She didn't leave a note, or give me anyplace to find her... _**Please** don't tell Master Napoli, I can't have him angry with me!" _He shouted out, trembling, and Bulma released him, apologizing as she straightened out his lapels.

"Listen, It will be taken care of. Don't worry. But, if you don't wish to have Napoli know, you'll let me stay and wait for her, can you do this?"

" **Yes!** You can trust me! But, Miss Launch has many appointments I'm afraid she's not going to be able to take. Perhaps, you could be such a friend, and take on these for me? Save appearance, and such." He said anxiously, seeming truly desperate to be asking this.

"Take her _place...?_ Her and I don't look that alike. How could that be possible?" She whispered, kneeling down slightly to whisper to the odd, disheveled little man.

"There are eyes always watching... I saw the **devil's** carriage riding in from the west, and Miss Launch was wearing a bright red _harlot's_ dress! She left with him, I'm telling you, there's a **beast** in that man! He eats like he's ravenous, and leaves tears in her dresses, great gashes torn in the chaise where he took her! _You_ were there that day! The Lady's legs, splayed wide ope-"

Bulma slapped him, soundly. The servant stopped speaking, stunned stiff. He blinked a few times, then took a long, shuddering breath.

"You must see to abating Mr. Holmwood, and Dr. Shinhan. Perhaps to calm their suspicion with me...this whole tryst has rattled this old heart of mine." He said with a bow, and gathered up her luggage.

"They will not be expecting you until later in the day. Until then, you may make yourself comfortable, Ms. Murray." He said softly, and led her to her room.

After the servant left, he presumably went to go lie down and rest, while Bulma meanwhile, found herself growing curious about what she had learned from both her father, and Oolong. Knowing that Launch was Napoli's daughter, she thought perhaps there was some kind of clue as to the validity of these claims, if Vaiyans truly do still exist, do they truly eat human flesh, and if so, was Count Vegeta one of them?

Bulma popped her head out of the bedroom, and looked around, seeing the coast was clear, she headed for Launch's room first. She'd spent much time with her there, and knew that where Launch kept her stationary, she kept letters. Bulma gulped, feeling guilty for nosing through her friend's things, but what else was she to do, when she was missing, and presumably traveling with one of these 'Vaiyans?' that her father was secretly paid to protect the civilians from?

Bulma opened the dresser drawer, and found it absolutely flush with letters, all correspondence from her three suitors. Bulma's eyes were drawn to the ones from Raditz Quincy Morris, written in a fanciful style, which stuck her as a very old fashioned script.

To the Lady Launch,

_It's only a few more days until I can at last come meet you. I am counting the seconds until I can see you in this yellow dress I've sent you. Promise you will wear it for me. I'm sure you will look as lovely as the yellow rose of Texas._

-Raditz

Bulma folded back up the letter, finding it was not forthcoming information, she shuffled through the others, finding at last a thick stack of letters, all addressed from Naples, Italy. Bulma untied the string carefully, and began to read.

My dear daughter,

_I hope that London is treating you well, here in Italy, it is sweltering. The peaches are growing beautifully, though. I am sending you a case of my freshly canned peaches. I thought it would be good wifely practice for you to bake pies. Hopefully, once this harvest is over, I will come home and dine on your delicious fruit pie. My daughter, hone your baking skills, and you will win you a husband for life, I assure you! And yes, don't worry. I have arranged for you to meet your first suitor, Dr. Shinhan on the last day of April. Please be kind and give him a chance._

With all my love, Papa Napoli _._

Bulma found many others like this, and began to feel foolish for having been rifling through her private business. Then, she caught something interesting. A letter from Dr. Tien Shinhan.

Dear Ms. Westerna,

 _I am so thrilled to hear you are doing well. I have been busy, and for that I apologize for not having gotten to your letter sooner. Unfortunately, that is the life I live, surrounded by **sheer** lunacy. Hearing from you is a small ray of sunshine in these dark days. I have a subject who is troubled so that he insists we feed him lab mice, insects, or he'll eat whatever **pests** he finds crawling through the cracks. I'm sorry if this subject brings you some distress, but I feel I must share this with you, and perhaps you can have a laugh._...

 _He believes that the more lives he can gather for the "Master," the more he will be rewarded, isn't that curious? He was a solicitor sent to that old Trufflesylvanian castle, to try and sell the Count Vegeta there some estates round London, and he came back with his brain a total unsalvageable mess. I believe this 'Master' could be one and the same, Count Vegeta. But, who are we to believe any of the ramblings these lunatics shout out, day in and day out..._ _I find myself drawn to gaze at the lovely lithograph of you that you sent me, to give me some semblance of peace..._

Bulma skimmed through the rest of the letter, but kept finding her eyes drawn to the short part of the letter referring to the Count. She would have to discuss this with Dr. Tien Shinhan later. For now, she put back the papers, and looked over the stationary, curious if she should write Yamcha again, when, after all, she hadn't ever received a letter from _him._

* * *

**Yamcha Harker's Journal (continued)**

When I found out I was a prisoner, a sort of _wild_ feeling came over me. I ran up and down the stairs, trying to open every door, peering out every window I could find; after a while of that, I was _so_ convinced that I was helpless, that nothing else would convince me otherwise. I think I went a bit mad for awhile, and looking back on it now, I must have looked like a rat in a trap. Once I was convinced I was truly helpless, I fell silent, and sat down more carefully than I ever have in my life, then began to think over the best approach to this enigma. I came to one solid conclusion- I cannot confide in the Count about this, of that I'm absolutely certain. He knows that I'm imprisoned because he's the one who's done it to me, with reason I'm sure, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully... If I believed all the facts he has presented me with. I'm either being deceived by my own fears, or else I'm in desperate straits- Then I currently need, and I will _truly_ need all my brains and brawn to get out of this.

I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the boom of the great door below, and I knew the count had returned. He didn't come into the library right away, so I crept carefully into the room, and found him making my bed. That was odd, but it only confirmed what I had thought all along- that there were _no servants_ in this house. When I saw him later through the gap in the door hinges, he was laying out the table spread in the dining room. Now I know for a **fact** , there is no one else to do it, and the only other servant existing was The Driver, who shared the same strange strength as him. This is a frightening thought, did that mean that he was able to control the wolves by simply _holding_ up his white gloved hand, and speaking that deadly command that sent them scattering? Wait... _white gloves!_ Is that significant, that the driver and count Vegeta both wear identical white gloves? To conceal some... **_terrible power?!_**

Is that why all the people in Bistritz, and on the coach feared for me?

Bless that good woman who hung the crucifix around my neck! It shall continue to be a great comfort to me, when I touch it it gives me a feeling of strength. It is strange to think that before I thought such a thing to be overzealous and idolatrous, to now be of help in my time of trouble and loneliness. Is it because there _really is_ a power in worship? Or is it because I'm giving the thing more credibility than it actually has? Right now, It doesn't matter either way. I will think about it more later and try to make up my mind about it. I must find out all I can about Count Vegeta, and maybe then I can understand more. Tonight he might talk more about himself, if I can turn the conversation that way. I must be very careful, though, to avoid his suspicion.

* * *

 **Naples** , **Italy.**

 _"For just one lira, I speak your destiny! Don't wait! Find out today, or tomorrow may be too late!"_ The old soothsayer Baba sang from her tattered curtains, waving her withered hands over a murky crystal ball. The small cobblestone streets are busy with her mid-day patrons, curiously seeking out their fortune for a small penchant. Or perhaps, finding their daily bread. The streets are alive with music, the enthusiastic banter of the street theater, the jangling of an old tambourine, in tune with the frenzied sounds of the roma gypsy pulling on his accordion, passionately singing the tales of his people's illustrious past.

_"...Pe vremuri eram puternici! În acele vremuri, demult ... Imperiul Vaiyan te-ai dus, dar totuși oasele mele nu vor putrezi! Acei bărbați care au uitat ... Dar legenda rămâne până la sfârșitul zilelor ..."_

His gnarled fingers still find enough strength to tap on the yellowed piano keys, as his song begins to quicken, and yet the coins still flow into his hat on the ground. He thanks them enthusiastically, his wet grin widely spread across his flushed red face like ripened tomato drying in the sun as he continues to play endlessly, the deceased gibbon monkey he cherished, kept in a wooden box wrapped with string at his side, the tiny tasseled hat resting on the casket.

_In old times we were strong! In those times, long gone... Vaiyan Empire you've gone, but still my bones won't rot! Those men who've been forgotten... But still legend remains till the end of days..._

Wrinkles form around his eyes as he cries out his sad song, but still he laughs like a wild man, pumping faster on the bellows of his accordion, his eyes lost in delirium.

A few streets away, a black haired man is climbing down the side of an apartment building, his broad back wiry with tension as he looks down over his shoulder, then makes a neat landing in the street. Gokuseppe looks up at the apartment building, then his eyes travel down to the cobblestone path where garbage and the filth tossed in the ditch has concealed what was discarded there.

His eyes do not deceive him, and in the muck he is able to make out a pale, twisted neck, with two deadly wounds, from something penetrating deep into her neck. Ms. Williamsburg was a kind woman who had hailed from Manchester, one who had more than once tossed him a sixpence for toting her expensive dresses up to her apartment.

From what he could tell, her withered body was unclothed, and in the heat and filth it had quickly dessicated and went unnoticed. Goku glanced back and forth to be sure the coast was clear, then held his hand out, and alighted it blue, a flash of light brightening up the alley way as he incinerated her remains. A charred black spot was left where she had been tossed to her death, drained of blood and entirely unmarked except for the wounds on her neck. Goku put one hand to his chin, rubbing it, before pulling a long bristle of fur from his coat pocket, and comparing it with a crow's feather, sniffing it.

"Big fish." He whispered, then turned away, thrusting the evidence in his pockets, innocently whistling a tune as he made his way down the bustling streets. 

_UPDATE! 1/17-_

_Scene removed, please disregard Goku following the english boatmen_

* * *

"It's so good to see you, Ms. Murray, keeping the books neat while Miss Launch is away?" A voice interrupted Bulma's fervid reading, making her startle, dropping the book on the floor. She reached for it quickly, then saw the hand grasping for the book, and gulped. The man had green skinned hands, with red rings around his wrist; certainly an unnatural color, but that wasn't what unsettled her, what bothered her was the long white nails, with dark ridges in them that came to sharp points.

She stood up quickly, and shook his hand, pulling up the corner of her dress in a casual curtsey.

"Good day, Mr. Piccolo. Yes, I've been busying myself with some reading. I didn't hear you come in." She responded with a slight huff in her voice, taking the book he handed to her, and clutching it to her chest. Piccolo 'Art' Holmwood chuckled slightly, his white fangs showing, as he led her towards the chaise lounge in the library, taking a seat in the armchair across from her. A servant soon followed after, apologizing frantically to Bulma, as he poured their tea with a shaky hand.

"There's no need to fear me, I don't bite." Piccolo said to the both of them, taking the cup of steaming hot tea and sipping it. The servant nodded and prepared Bulma's tea, gesturing to her to talk to Piccolo for him like he'd asked. Bulma sat back, placing the book labeled " _Anthropomorphic Biology and it's Curious Features"_ across her lap. The page was dogeared on the section about Vaiyans, which she had been reading excitedly before he came in.

"If you bite me, will I turn **green** like you?" Bulma snipped, taking a lump of sugar and stirring it into her tea. Piccolo laughed, she had caught him on a fortuitous day, apparently.

"I'm afraid not, but if the lady's acquaintance wants to be dressed all in green, I can have that arranged." He joked back, and Bulma managed a smile for him. She wouldn't show it, but she slightly feared the odd, pointy eared man, wearing a white suit with a dark purple silk shirt beneath, and a matching white and purple turban, displaying perhaps he came from somewhere...else. Bulma decided she would get to the bottom of him, first of all, before he asked her any questions.

"I don't doubt it, in fact, I love green. Green is the color of love, don't you know?" Bulma said sweetly, sipping her tea, revealing a small secret to him.

"Yes, I do know that. Your heart chakra is represented by green; forgiveness, compassion, understanding and transformation. Where did _you_ learn that?" Piccolo asked, his eyes wide as Bulma smirked; her inkling speculations perhaps confirmed.

"I am more than just a school mistress, I am a mental giant in all things that arouse my curiosity. Tell me, where do you come from, Sir Piccolo?" She said, opening her book and flipping through it deftly; searching for perhaps a section on his kind so she could beat him to the punch.

"My people emigrated here from the province of Namek, I arrived here to be enrolled in your prestige Cambridge academy at Yorkshire, but my hometown is at Lookout point. You are welcome to come over to my Yunzabit Heights manor anytime you'd like, of course my father and I would adore the company of my fiancée, along with you for an evening of entertainment."

Bulma nodded politely, looking pleased by the idea, but she also wanted to divert attention away from Launch, and maybe steer it towards Raditz, though she figured he most likely had little knowledge on the topic.

"That sounds like a grand plan, I would be delighted. Say, remember that show at the concert we heard, with that wonderful Mozart? Wouldn't it be great fun to play on the piano like him?" Bulma said whimsically, standing and twirling her dress around as she held the book to her chest. Piccolo closed his eyes, sighing.

"I suppose we could go down to the drawing room and I could show you a note or two, but then I really should be going if Miss Launch isn't arriving, I thought she missed me dearly, but I'm afraid she has **other** plans. I don't like what I've heard about this Raditz-" He growled, and Bulma paused mid-step.

"You're referring to Raditz Quincey Morris? What have you heard?" She gasped, and Piccolo set his cup on the glass table, crossing his arms.

"When he came upon me, he called me a... _green_ man, and said that he hadn't meant to walk in while I was in the washroom, and that he was reminded of someone he had engaged with prior, before becoming distracted by the servant calling for him, that... **Ruffian!"** Piccolo growled, clenching his fist. If the tea cup had still been in it, it would have shattered. Bulma had to smirk slightly behind her brown suede glove, watching veins pulsing in the man's neck as he thought angrily of the Vaiyan man.

"Yes... That Raditz is an interesting creature... called a _Texan_. I'm not sure what Launch sees in him." Bulma scowled, crossing her arms over the textbook as Piccolo stood, and put his elbow out for her to take.

"Let's retire to the drawing room. I need to let off a bit of steam, then we shall meet with Dr. Shinhan." He said coldly, and Bulma took his arm, a bit hesitant, glancing back at the safe haven of books, then back towards where the large Namekian man was leading her.

Perhaps it wasn't the best course of action, reading old books and letters. Maybe secondhand, or even first hand accounts were even better. She would do her best to convince the men to lend her their information, for Launch's sake.

"Are we to go to his asylum?" She questioned sweetly, watching as he released her, and strolled over to the grand piano, taking a purple handkerchief from his pocket, and dusting it off. Bulma stood a moment, taking her gloves off, and tucking them into a dress pocket.

"A Lunatic Asylum is no place for a lady, perhaps we can meet in the city, and see what they have playing at the cinema." Piccolo said, opening up the piano, and taking a seat. Bulma came up to the side of him, and frowned, sitting herself down on the shiny top of it.

"The cinema? What foolishness. I can handle a few lunatics, have you met my father? He's grown quite **batty** in his old age, bless his heart." Bulma giggled, and Piccolo played a few keys.

"Mr. Murray? Was it, _Doctor_ Murray?" He questioned, suddenly his interest was piqued.

"Dr., and I plan to take up his work in his stead, so don't take me for some _bubble_ head, I know a thing or two about science, and the brain." She snickered, and Piccolo sneered back at her, beginning to play a stuffy old song.

" _No, no, play Tchaikovsky! Swan Lake Waltz!"_ Bulma chirped, clapping her hands.

"Ridiculous, **children's** music! I only know it because it's also one of Launch's favorites. But she **also** loves the 'Ugly Duck' by Hans Anderson." Piccolo growled under his breath at her, then closed his eyes, and began the tune.

"Oh, it's _so **romantic**!_ My daddy took me to see it at the orchestra when I was a little girl! Imagine; _me_ , a Trufflesylvanian Vrincess!" Bulma said happily, swaying slightly as she allowed the music to fill her with whimsy, of the fleeting dark shadow who danced with her blue wisp, whispering, _Bulesabetha!_ She allowed herself the small fantasy, her eyes kept shut, as she reached out one hand, it's pink palm offered to the air freely, then as if grasping her dance partner's hand; she drifted off of the piano, and began to waltz, slowly twirling herself around, as Piccolo focused himself on playing the correct notes.

She allowed herself to dream in the day, the darkness beneath her pale eyelids creating a lovely scene. Dancing across the shimmering black river, beneath a full harvest moon, she imagined herself Odette, or perhaps, this Vrincess Bulesabetha, whoever _that_ was, and danced, swept into the arms of a mysterious Prince; whose darkness swept around them as they danced, a black cloak flocked with midnight blue, a flash of blood on his pale lips, as they spun, in a maddening entendre; the music crescendos, and she can no longer touch the water with her toes, as they are dancing, her body grows languid, perhaps she is sleeping, for this dream world is so beautiful and calm, as he takes her outstretched arm, and places a cold, chiseled face in her warm little palm, and kisses it.

_Bulesabetha... It won't be long. I will find you. My love... I could **never** forget you._

A cruel whisper startles her from the dark, as gravity suddenly returns, and she's thrust onto the floorboards. The music makes a dissonant sound as Piccolo stands up quickly from his fervent playing on the keys, and rushes to her.

 _"Ms. Murray! Bulamina Murray!"_ He shouted, and lifted her head up from the floor, feeling the back of it carefully, glad to not feel the warmth of blood seeping through her azure blue strands.

"I'm ok. Really... I must've... gotten carried away." She whispered, coughing slightly as he pulled her up to him, looking down with concern.

"Either you were floating...Or I've been infected by sheer lunacy." He whispered huskily, snarling as he glanced quickly at the curtains, watching as an odd smoke curled out, sparkling green in color. His eyes must have deceived him, surely. He blinked again, and it was gone, nothing left but a cold chill making him shudder as he pulled the woman up, and carried her over to a recliner, calling in the servant angrily.

Bulma drifted off to sleep, one palm falling away off her chest, and laying open, where a strange, shimmering red liquid dried, and dissolved.

* * *

Great billowing clouds of red dust blanket around the strangely foreign calèche, as it bobs along the rocky, hard packed soil of the new land they were approaching upon. The tall, dark shadow of a driver at the front, snapping the reins, as in the carriage, Launch is resting quietly in a pillow of her own pink dress, the ruffles slightly mussed. A drifting tendril of dust comes in through the curtain, as her nose twitches, sniffling slightly in her sleep, before sneezing herself awake. She sits up quickly with the jangling transformation; her blue locks now honey blonde, she crawls across the seat eagerly, pulling open the curtain.

What she sees is impressive, acres of rolling grassland, so incredibly flat and wide, beneath a dusky scarlet sunset, fading into a magnificent night sky, all alight with stars. Then, she gasps excitedly, her hands to her cheeks, as she sees the horses grazing in the fields.

"Oh, Raditz! It's _beautiful!"_ She gushes, her emerald green eyes beaming. Then, they sparkle even brighter once she sees the country house atop the hill, a wide, impressive gothic mansion, made of red brick, with tall white pillars. She grins, pleased.

"You're awake, that's great. I can't wait to show you around." He says, not turning about to see her blonde hair hanging out the window; his senses are far too keen to require that extra glance. Raditz rode up to the massive red barn, and snapped his fingers, smirking as his stallions lifted the wooden bar with their snouts. He pulled the calèche inside, and hopped down, unbridling the horses, and leading them to their stalls to rest for the night, affixing some feed bags filled with grain to their long, suede black muzzles, with white lighting bolts between dark maroon eyes.

Launch hopped out, and he came around the back to retrieve her bags, as she continued talking excitedly.

"Man, it's so pretty here! I can't believe that this is all your land, and you have your ranch hands here takin' care of everything for ya? That's swell! I can't wait to see the inside and _everything!_ I've never been in a american mansion!" Launch chattered on happily, Raditz nodding as he locked the barn doors behind him.

"...I came to this land once, out of curiosity, and I was taken by how the natives here were so peaceful and kind. That was before all the conquering. Then, I retired to my home in Trufflesylvania until things had returned to normalcy." He spoke quickly, yawning with an audible click of his fang teeth.

"Huh? I thought you said you immigrated. How _long_ ago was that, Raditz?" Launch questioned, furrowing her brows.

"Oh, don't concern yourself with anything I say! _Mein gótt,_ must be the time. It's late for you, Lady Launch. We should get everything settled, you may take a hot bath to take your mind off everything. We shall ride out in the morning." He said quickly, scolding himself for miss-speaking, it was so _frustrating_ having to make up stories to avoid her suspicions! He wished he could just tell her everything.

_Not yet, when the time is right._

"Yeah, a hot bath just sounds divine! It must have been the altitude getting to my head, I sure am tired. I'm afraid we may not go on that morning ride you were talking about. You look like you could use some rest, as well, darling. Let's just take it easy." Launch said softly, and he nodded. He did desperately need to rest, and now he was familiar ground at last. Wearing his day-ring was a blessing, because then he could be seen out in daylight, like any other person. But he was truly, a creature of the night, and he desired a long rest.

"Perhaps, tomorrow you can make yourself familiar with my place. I may go out to town to stock the larder, and purchase fresh linen. It's been some time since I've been home, and I don't want you sleeping in bedding that's been moth-eaten." Raditz said smartly, resting his hand on her shoulder as he showed her to the door, and used the heavy door knocker to signal that he was home.

"Oh, Raditz, you sweet man. Why not just send out your servant?" She giggled, watching as the doors swung open, and the servant bowed before them.

"Good evening, Master Raditz. Won't you come in?" The servant man bowed, moving one arm with a hand towel draped over it to gesture them in.

"I thank you, Arohote. This is my Fiancée, Launch Lucy Westerna." He said, and Launch servant nodded once, moving the doors back stiffly.

"My servants need their rest as well, darling Launch." Raditz whispered, as they walked past, and the tawny-skinned man with long black hair smiled, and took the suitcase, his eyes flashing back at Raditz's, golden for just a moment.

"I guess. I never gave time off to my servants." Launch shrugged, sitting on a bench, and propping out a foot for a servant to unlace it for her. She turned her head quickly, noticing that the servant who had taken her bags was already gone, disappeared like the wind. She crossed her arms and huffed at the disrespect. She was startled wheninstead, it was Raditz's quick hands that untied them for her, seeing as she could barely bend at the waist in her stiff, boned corset.

"No?" He chuckled, pulling off one boot, and attending to the other.

"You should give them a bit of kindness, you'll find with some rest, when you wake in the morning your coffee will taste more fresh." He said politely, and took off her other boot.

" _Coffee?_ What's that?" Launch questioned, as she stretched out her aching toes.

"It's a Ethiopian delight, with a bite like black chocolate, and rich, like spiced wine. I shall have my servants serve it to you in the morning." Launch shook her head eagerly and hummed with interest, watching as Raditz removed his own odd leather cowboy boots, then his long waistcoat, and hung it on a hook, leaving him in his brown riding chaps, and a white shirt with a similar suede vest, his Bowie knife tucked in his waistband, along with a two large hand guns tucked in his decorative beaded belt. Launch giggled and made a grab at his weapons, but he was too quick to stop her hands, and next thing she knew, he'd drawn both guns and was twirling them by the handles playfully.

"I'll have none of that again, Miss Launch. You could hurt yourself on one of these. These Remington pistols are not like that rusty little _pea shooter_ you hide in between your breasts." Raditz tucked them back in their respective holders, and hung his chaps on the servant's arms, grinning as he swept Launch up, and carried her through the house. The servant holding the chaps made a strangled scoff, thrown by his master's ridiculous phrases and actions.

"You're getting out of this uncomfortable dress and into the bath. Chayton, run us a hot bath... for two." Raditz said playfully, and Launch giggled, loving this side of him. He seemed more comfortable and relaxed in his own home, than back in Naples and London. The flinty eyed servant named Chayton nodded briskly, taking the chaps back to where they belonged, a long black braid down his muscular back, as he walked with a proud gait. Launch looked over Raditz's shoulder curiously, and blinked, waiting until the servant had gone to whisper a question.

"Raditz... Don't think me rude for asking, but are all your man servants like _that...?"_ She whispered, not knowing how to say what she intended delicately. Raditz looked over his shoulder, seeing Chayton was gone, and nodded carefully.

"Yes. I take it, you're referring to their stern attitude, and not their features native to this land. Don't mind them. They are all very kind, but may seem hesitant to speak with you. I shall talk with them, and make sure they know that they are to treat you just as they treat me." He said kindly, cradling her in his arms as he walked her over to the fireplace, where Arohote was crouching, making sure it was well stocked with wood. Raditz let her down, and Launch climbed onto the large bearskin rug eagerly, marvelling at it's large, lacquered teeth.

"Look at the _chompers_ on him! Man, I don't wanna run into any beasts like this one!" She said, then stretched out comfortably, looking around at all the artifacts with interest, cooing with her curiosity. Raditz snapped his fingers while she was distracted, and signalled Arohote to him. The men walked off to the side, and Raditz whispered lowly to him.

"Arohote, you understand that Launch is a human girl. I want her to feel comfortable here, and by **no means** do I want you, or Chayton sniffing about her hungrily. She's **_mine_** , got it? I will give you a lofty allowance to entertain the girl while I rest. Do you have my chambers arranged?" He rumbled to him, almost threateningly, baring his long ivory teeth, and Arohote backed down, glancing at her once, and licking his canines.

"I understand. This one isn't... _temporary?_ You'll find your chambers have been freshly set. I sent to Count Vegeta for the fresh... _bedding."_ The servant whispered, raising his eyebrows suggestively as they spoke in vague sentences to not arouse her suspicions.

"Good. No, I'm... keeping her. We should be married by the end of the year I'm hoping, so begin making arrangements for a ladies living space." He said, and Arohote nodded obediently, then turned around, leaving them to have some privacy.

Launch looked over her shoulder at Raditz, her blonde ringlets illuminated by the warm fire light, and rested her chin in her hand. "So, what's he saying'?" She huffed, feeling slighted that she couldn't understand their private conversation.

"Nothing, he says they will do their best to make you feel comfortable. Now, let's retire for the night. I need you to give me a nice, long back rub." He said teasingly, and pulled her up by her hand, as Launch giggled back, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She was set for life with this man, Launch knew as she rested her head on his shoulder, as he carried her away once again, his long brown tail swinging contentedly side to side, as Chayton found them, and led them to the immaculate washroom.

"Chayton, leave us to undress in **privacy**." Raditz said sternly, and the man backed away, nodding quickly, as Raditz had already begun attending to the ribbons on her back.

"Yes, Master Raditz." The man whispered, and closed the door, then walked down the long hallway, loosening his tie, and strolling back outside, where he and Arohote met eyes. The elder growled lowly at him, and they spoke in their own native language.

 _"What shall we eat tonight? Master is back, what shall he feed on if not the woman?"_ Arohote hissed, and Chayton growled back.

" _I am hungry, I feel like I haven't eaten properly in a **century**. If he is planning on mating with the woman, I take it **we** must go **hunting**." _Chayton whispered, and removed his white dress shirt.

 _" **Finally**! I'm starving, I was ready to take a bite out of that hussy's neck, if not for Master Raditz already having claimed her."_ Arohote chuckled gruffly, and the other smiled widely, his lopsided grin like the hungry mouth of a wolf, with a panting tongue as they both removed their formal wear, then walked off into the woods. Not long after, the long, haunting keening of a wolf ripped through the trees, startling the starlings nestling in them, sending the birds flying out in droves before the full moon. Another joined it, and made a maddening screech.

"What is that terrible sound? Raditz, I'm scared of wolves." Launch shivered, from where she was up to her neck in bubbles, as Raditz was lighting candles for them. He glanced out the window quickly, then hissed softly and looked away, instead drawing the heavy damask curtains closed to block out the moonlight.

"Don't you worry your pretty head. Out in those woods, the wild dogs are well-fed." He whispered, then walked up to the side of the tub, and began unbuttoning his trousers.

"Oh, Raditz... it's so.. _romantic_. I feel safe with you." She sighed, her cheeks flushed as he stepped into the tub, and brought her to sit between his legs. He removed his rings, and set them on the side of the tub, Launch doing the same, before turning and resting her head against his broad chest, where from a platinum chain an interesting red crest dangled over a thick pelt of black hair and muscle, her fingers petting and raking through it until stopping on the chain. Raditz looked down, placing his hand on her hip as she played with it.

"What does this mean, are you wearing a trident?" Launch questioned, and Raditz shook his head slightly. He lifted her face by the chin, and stared down at her, his pupils widening.

"It means, I am very proud of my Ōozaru heritage... On a full moon night like this, I am brimming with power, as I am reminded of our warriors all garbed in proud red, snarling primate headdress. Long ago, before you were born, I was one of them. We were us two Princes called the Order of The Ōozaru. Vraculya. My true age is not numbered. Do not fear those weakling wolves, whom I have at my command. You are going to be my wife in the Vaiyan way one day, understand?" He spoke haltingly in Vaiyan, making her gulp, nodding as he held her carefully under his control.

"That's why I've claimed you in the human way, one day I will bring you to my true homeland. Launch Lucy Westerna, you've no idea the creatures you keep cradled in your little hands, the power that sleeps in your heart. You are a changeling of Scythian blood, and that breed; witch-ling.

If our destinies were changed, you would be the one holding my reins. But, I have chosen to be under your command, so any little thing you ask of me, I shall do it for you." Raditz purred, as she continued stroking her hand on his chest, and he lowered his face for a kiss, red smoke swirling around the tub, as he held her deeply under his spell, if for just awhile, he could show her his true self, and she would think nothing of it but a faint, fanciful dream.

* * *

 **Midnight**.

Count Vegeta stole through the long corridors, each breath like a hiss against the cold concrete. He had come so close, but he quickly realized he was much too far away. Too weak, he needed more energy. He left the refuge of his bedchamber, and found the pale stranger waiting for him once again. What riddles and long tales would he bleed out of him tonight? He knew from a quick glance, that the Englishman was jotting down every single exchange they had ever had; for future reference in case he thought nobody would ever come to rescue him from this place. Yamcha Harker was walking on thin ice.

He exchanged pleasantries with him, pretended to drink wine, the whole nine yards. The fool was so easy to enchant just by speaking with him; Vegeta gained his knowledge. Through speaking, he could learn the Englishman's tongue, and how to navigate London for when he did finally make his escape, from the cobwebs and dull drudgery, to a new life, of youth, and energy. Vegeta felt giddy, like he were an actor on the great stage as he spun about and spoke fervently, making frantic motions before the fire place that sent fear into the human man's eyes, playing with his favorite Turkish sword, as unknowingly, he had become surrounded in that same, thick ethereal smoke that rendered humans into a dream state, where one could do whatever they wish with them. Vegeta decided he would slowly siphon information and vitality from him. Then, when he was done with him, he would make his grand debut.

Yamcha wrote fervently everything he could, dark circles becoming evident beneath his dull brown eyes, as he watched Vegeta take command in great, long strides, swinging the sword, and growling with enthusiasm; his blunt black moustache bristling over gleaming white fangs, eyes like two spot lights of hell's fire as he paced past the thin beams of moonlight bathing his decorated chest, vest pinned with brooches and crests, chains clasped across his cloak to hold it in place.

"We Vaiyans have a right to be **Proud**! In our veins flows the blood of many brave races, who fought for lordship! Here, in the mixing pot of Europa, the Ugric tribe bore down from Icelandia, the fighting spirit in which their Berserkers displayed onto all the seaboards of Asia, and Africa, until they too were thought that were-wolves had come, demanding blood!

Here too, when they came, they found the Huns, whose lust for battle had swept over the earth like a living flame, until those dying people held in their veins the blood of those old witches, expelled from Scythia! Fools, fools! What devil or witch was as great as the legendary Vaiyan, whose blood runs rampant through my very veins?"

Yamcha's eyes widened, as he listened fervently, thinking panickedly of the mention of witches, were-wolves, and the like, these battles which Vegeta spoke of, it seemed like he had in fact been present, and like a king he spoke, always referring to himself as 'we'. Shadows flashed across Yamcha's haunted face, as Vegeta went on, to describe battle after battle, all throughout the ages, he spat, growling viciously; as if with each word, he was growing stronger, and the talk of bloodshed only made him hungrier for violence.

"Who more gladly than we, the four nations, received the 'bloody sword', or was at its battle cry? Who flocked quicker to the standard of the King? Who was redeemed, when that great shame of my nation, the shame of Vegeta, when the flags of the Ice-Ling and the Truffles went down beyond the Crescent; who was it, but my own brother Raditz, who crossed the Danube and beat the snot out of the Trufflomanian King on his own ground! This was the blood of Vegeta indeed!" Vegeta grinned, swiping a clenched fist through the air that made Yamcha flinch.

There was that tinkling laughter again, as three beautiful women sat beside them, giggling and fawning over Vegeta, whispering to one another about poor, clueless Yamcha. But, they all sat in wait patiently, for at last when Vegeta would feed them, what would it be? A fresh, newborn baby, or perhaps the fat body of a peasant? The mistresses of Vegeta could think of something much more tempting, as they were obscured by the mist of Vegeta's illusion, keeping Yamcha never the wiser to the reality before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: At last I've finally updated the chapter, sorry for the long wait! Some elements were still incomplete, but now I have the plot all planned out for the future. While I was working on this, I watched the 3 Part Dracula series on Netflix with Claes Bang, and I have to say, I really enjoyed him as Dracula! For the plot of the story, I found it differed greatly, but also came together in a way that was vaguely similar to the events in the book. Overall, a great watch. I definitely recommend it. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know what you thought


	6. May 12th-13th - Dreams, They Must Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Important Update! I've been working on this chapter for some time, a bit longer than I would like, due to illness, and research that had to be done for topics in this chapter. I have removed a short scene from the last chapter due to an error in time/story telling,
> 
> so please disregard what you read about Goku following the English boatmen. They will no longer be relevant. It took me awhile to realize my mistake, and once I did, I was finally able to finish the chapter. I'm hopeful my next one won't take nearly as long as this one. Also, I decided to start adding annotations for certain words that are hard to understand, or foreign. Let me know what you think of these.
> 
> Remember to Read and Review, your support helps encourage me to write faster.

Bulma rested fretfully, tossing her head this way and that, as she fell into a nightmareish fantasy of a time long past. She was running, gasping for her breath, pink feet plunging into the moist grass and digging trenches in the dirt as she ran; desperately in terror. A fleeting flash of black, chasing behind her in the shadowy coniferous trees.

 _"Help! Whosoever set this hound upon me, **please,** spare me!"_ She cried, and ran with all her might, her heavy mahogany red and golden trimmed velvet gown gathered up in her hands as she ran, baring her white thighs, a flash of red undergarments, the cleft between her hips drenched in her sweat as she ran, no, sprinted for her life. Growls punctuated the heavy din of birds screeching, small animals scurrying out of the old undergrowth of the ancient Carpathian forest.

 _"I beg you, please receive me! Call off your hound!"_ She cried once again, her head tossed back as she screamed with all her might. Suddenly, heat and rough fur surrounds her, she screams out in horror, as the weight of the beast knocks her down hard to the ground, and her body seizes in terror; feeling of the weight of four massive paws holding her firmly down to the ground. Bulesabetha whimpers into the mossy sod and black soil of the land of Count Vegeta, trembling in terror as the black wolf sniffs, and licks her cheek.

" **Strygie**! Vroalthie, enough. Murony.¹" A baritone voice commands, and the wolf growls, placing it's jaws just around her throat, it's hot breath flush against her, strings of moisture wetting her pale skin.

"How does her fresh blood taste? Is she savory, heavy with the salt of her indulgence? Or be she cold, and tart?" He chuckled, enjoying teasing the girl for just a moment, knowing that his Berserker hound would listen to his every command. The young prince had never tasted human blood on his lips, perhaps she would be a worthy exception.

"Prince! Have mercy on me! I come to reunite our peoples, ever since you have returned home to Trufflesylvania, I have waited for your return. I do not wish to be wed as young as I am, though I am certain that you shall defend our great country from invaders! You have come back to reclaim your homeland, your birthright! I am entrusted to provide you with a son, Tsar Vladimir, Vegeta. To kill me, your Vrincess, wouldn't that be a waste?" She spat hatefully at his feet, and he was taken aback, his dark eyes widened as he saw the stream of saliva trail down his black boot.

He grimaced, and made an angered growl, sending the wolf scattering back, whimpering. Bulesabetha slowly moved; pushing herself up out of the grass as she stood shakily. His arms were crossed angrily over his chest, where as she gazed she saw his pale skin was garment less, only his brown suede pants buttoned at his trim waist, where a matching brown, furry belt of his own hair was curled around it. He made no motion to assist her to stand in his anger, tapping a bloody, gloved finger on his bicep. He used the woods as his training grounds, and she had interrupted him.

Bulesabetha managed to stand, still panting, and shaking dirt out from her dress, her long, curly azure tresses spread out around her like the Aegean sea. He marvelled in secrecy at her beauty from beneath his furrowed brows, as the young prince, too was covered in dirt, and blood. She raised one hand to her throat, and felt where the wolf had raked it's hot breath onto her throat.

"That beast, what manner is it? Has it bitten my neck? Am I to become rabid like it?"

"Lyssa! The werewolf's bite.²" Vegeta chuckled, finding her fear of the disease amusing, yet, how interesting it would be to see a woman truly gone rabid. He shook his head, that was nonsense.

"He is my pet, he is here only to protect, he wouldn't bite you without my command." He chided, and turned her chin with one black gloved hand to observe her throat.

"You are unscathed. Foolish child." Vegeta spat, seeing that she was fine, he released her quickly, returning his hands to their crossed position.

"What madness made you brave the wilds of Carpathia, alone? Are you a raving lunatic, woman?" He spat out, and she made a harmonious chime of laughter.

"Perhaps I am, but what woman could resist the call of the wild open wide to her eyes, your fortress is immense, broad and impenetrable…" She whispered, as she walked slowly towards him, Vegeta eyeing her warily.

"But your forests, they evoke my senses to escape. I couldn't wait until I was away from the cold numbling fortress of the Ice-Lings, then, you. You came for me, to liberate me, but I never saw you before I made my escape. You never rescued me as a true Prince, so that I could show you my gratitude with a kiss." She whispered, and came forth carefully to touch the planes of his face, where thick stubble grew, a trim black beard around his lips.

"I am not only a Prince. I am Vraculya. Speak the name of your Ōozaru Master." He purred to her, touching the backs of her small white hands with his, encompassing her grip. Bulesabetha came in closer, her cheeks flushing.

"Vegeta. You must have me as your one and only bride. Take me as your wife so that our Empire may be united all as one once again. So that our kingdom may be strong, as it should be." Bulesabetha blinked stubbornly at him, and he glared back at her ocean blue depths with a piercing strength, blazing from his ebony irises.

"First, let me welcome you to my home. The forests of Carpathia know only one Master. Come into my castle, where you may make yourself comfortable, Vrincess Bulesabetha. Then we shall speak on this bonding arrangement, and once summer passes, your first heat may come, perhaps then we shall make payment on your promises." He purred to her, and wrapped his tail around her waist. Bulesabetha gasped, her cheeks flushing brightly.

Vegeta moved swiftly to take her lips with his, making a strangled whimper come out of her as he pressed hard to her face with his bristling beard, and coiled the heat of his sweetened breath with hers. Bulesabetha felt a sharp prick as she allowed herself to give in to the kiss. She just briefly caught a hint of sharpness, which then dragged along the side of her tongue, and past her lips, before withdrawing, showing her a glint of his Vaiyan eye teeth.

"You taste of bitter cherries and ice. Sweeten your breath with bread, as well as lapte, and then I'll allow you to rest in a guest bed on this night. My mireasă.³"

She nodded quickly, in agreement. She would be his bride. Just this one kiss, told of what was to come for their future. There would be passion, she was sure of it. Love? She couldn't say for sure...But, what about Yamcha? Where did he fit in the picture? His image flashed through her mind, and suddenly he was in place of Prince Vegeta. But, this wasn't right, she was with the Prince! She tried to force the image back, but it was too late. Her dream had been shattered.

Bulma gasped and startled awake, sitting up in bed, her eyes wide as the images still rolled through her head. What was it about that man, that Prince that made her blood pound wildly through her veins? She looked around herself, and saw that she was lying in the guest bed, alone. Bulma looked down, seeing the source of her discomfort, she sat up and began removing all of her her sweat dampened garments, peeling them away from her flushed, pale skin. The windows were clouded up by condensation as she walked past, and paused in the mirror to look at herself. Stark nude, her body was so indecent. Was this what men liked? She wasn't sure Yamcha would, could he ever give her children with the odd way he was, so skittish of women?

 _Oh, how I wish to be as desired and sought after by many men, like Launch is…_ Bulma thought to herself, turning this way and that to examine the shape of her breasts, was the curve of her hip to her bottom tempting enough? Bulma pulled her coiffed hair out of it's ivory pin, and let it splay across her shoulders.

"Vra..cul..ya..." She whispered, splaying her long wavy curls across her body pleasingly. She whispered his name again, bringing back to mind his kiss, feeling the curves of her body beneath her hands as she whispered to the dream Prince.

"Vlad… Vegeta, Prince." She whispered, and tilted her head back. There was no reflection in the mirror, but for her alone, as she felt her body resting up against something solid, she gasped, and felt just the briefest touch of hands on her stomach, gripping at her hips, a butterfly's touch of lips, a tickle of hair against her neck. His translucent, white gloved fingers traced down to rest above her pubis mons, then waves rippled the air around his hands, and her body broke out into spasms, her legs weakening as she gasped and moaned with ecstasy, falling gently to her side, and panting, her body experiencing a multitude of climaxes.

 _How b_ _eautiful your ecstasy is to me. My Vrincess Bulesabetha. I shall always desire you, my love._ The pleasure giving apparition whispered, his smug grin forming in the air, before disappearing.

"Ms. Murray? Are you alright in there? Dinner is ready if you're feeling well enough to partake." A servant rapped on the door, and she struggled to regain her wits, before agreeing, gulping down her impassioned moans and hoarse breaths.

"I'll be down in a minute!"

* * *

**Annotations.**

**1\. Strygie** : Vampire, possibly female. Not in this case.

 **Vroalthie** : Code name based off Celtic pronunciation.

 **Murony:** Shape-Shifting Romanian Vampire.

 **2\. Lyssa** : Name for rabies, comes from the Greek spirit responsible for madness in animals.

 **Lapte** : Romanian milk that has been skimmed, the cream removed. It may have been heated with grain added to make it into a thickened cereal.

 **3\. Mireasă** : Bride, Mistress.

* * *

 **London, 1897**.

The dense smog of industry polluted the dusky blue sky over the dark city of Purfleet, lit by golden lamplights, the tallest of the spires belonging to Carnifax Asylum. The wheel spokes of the riding buggy creaked, and made lines through the mud puddles which formed in the potholes riddling the old cobblestone by-road.

"Here you are, M'lady. Carnifax Abbey. Watch your step." The coachman announced, coming around to the door to hold it open, a lamp raised to light her path. He held her hand as she came gracefully down the stairs, marvelling at the massive estate before her. An ancient, unmoved stone wall blocked off passage, coming to a heavy gate made of oak, and rust-eaten iron at the center to block off escape. Bulma stepped away from the coach with Piccolo beside her, hitching her skirts up slightly to avoid the mud puddles. He had donned a long, rich royal purple waistcoat to cover his white blazer underneath.

"I shall ring for you to enter." The driver announced, bowing his head, and removing his tattered hat a moment, before approaching the gate. The driver pulled vigorously on the bell chord, the iron bell knocker resonating loudly through the humid, fog laden streets, causing a shiver to run up Bulma's spine.

A scream and loud crash was heard, making her turn her head quickly to see what it was that had made the terrifying cry, Piccolo grasping her arm to pull her back safely to his side. An aluminum garbage bin had toppled over, a stray black cat scurrying out quickly. Bulma sighed, only slightly relieved to see the ragged feline hop up onto the brick wall, as the haunting voices continued to carry on, coming from the high windows of the Asylum, where the steel bars held its unstable prisoners trapped within.

Her eyes widened as the cat suddenly arched it's back and hissed, it's tattered, hairless pink ears flattened to the smooth flat of it's skull as its red mouth opened to hiss, lined with sharp yellow teeth. There was a small screech as a window opened up in the door, and a shadowy face could be seen from within.

"What brings you to the Asylum?" The voice responds, and the cat took off, frightened for it's life it seemed. Bulma observed this all as a apprehensive vouyer; her sky blue eyes transparent like crystal balls beneath the golden lamplights lighting the entrance, which creaked as they swung on rusted chains, the lime streaked engraved placard on the wall reading: CARNIFAX DISTRIC LUNATIC ASYLUM.

Piccolo stepped forth, and removed his turban, not having to speak a word, seemingly the gatekeeper recognized him immediately.

"Greetings, Sir Piccolo, what guests have you?" The gatekeeper intoned once again, and the tall Namekian sighed with his growing ire.

"I have in my company, Miss Bulamina Murray, daughter of Dr. Murray." He introduced her, pulling her forward to show her face beneath the golden lamplight. The gatekeeper nodded, eyeing her up and down from where only a square block revealed his red rimmed, jaundiced eyes, then receded back, and released the latch on the door.

It swung back, and the gatekeeper with it, holding the door open for them to enter. Piccolo turned, and placed a few tarnished shilling in the coachman's palm to wait for them. He took it, nodded gratefully, then hurried up to sit at the reins. The horses fidgeted anxiously, their hides twitching with irritation from the droves of black sweat flies swarming about, which they swatted at quickly with their tails.

"Come along, Ms. Murray." Piccolo said lowly, gesturing for her to enter with him. Bulma looked away up from the horses, and back to the estate before her, her boot heels clacking on the stone cobble. Piccolo noticed her curiousity, and led her along with him.

"This estate is called Carfax, undoubtedly a corruption alluding to the old _Quatre Face_ , as this house is four-sided, in line with the cardinal points of the compass. Of it, there are twenty acres, barricaded in by the stone wall.." Piccolo informed her, as she clasped her hand tightly around the firm swell of his bicep, looking all around herself owlishly as she observed the ancient trees, with dried black leaves that rustled; causing their shadows to crawl across her pale cheeks.

"Sir Piccolo, don't you think that this estate is dreadfully melancholy? Couldn't they make it a more soothing place to stay for those pitifully deranged indigents….? All these overgrown trees make it so creepy." She stated, scowling slightly at the absurdity, lifting her pale crinoline jade skirts with pearly silk leaves embossed onto the crushed white gauze. The skirts of her dress dragged across the ripples and moved as if hands were grazing across the fabric, a small ringlet of azure hair trailing down the nape of her neck shivered with a breath of hot air that made the tiny hairs curl tighter.

There was a low vibrating purr in the air surrounding her that made her giggle, as she turned slightly; thinking absently that Piccolo was right behind her trying to dance with her, but he was on the other side, watching her with one quirked brow ridge.

Bulma drifted whimsically along the walkway, the train of her skirt levitating from the sodden ground just slightly, bunched up in the back where it was clutched by an unseen hand. She was ever less the wiser, watching her own boots tap as she walked. She tucked her chin down, admiring how the sparkling tear drop pearl necklace dripped into the luscious flesh billowing over her square cut lace neckline; a more appropriate dress for the humid weather, as the sun had set over London by the time she had woken from her fainting spell. She had changed out of the heavy school mistresses costume, and into a light evening gown to take the weight away from her waist, allowing her to breathe in the damp, misty air that much better, the rich, earthy soil giving off a pleasant aroma. She loved petrichor; the scent of wet earth after rain.

"I'd much rather come here during the day, the dusk and the dankness make it seem as dark, and wet as a catacomb." She clipped the lie out curtly and shivered; letting a rare, prissy huff out, she closed her eyes and turned her nose into the air. She was a lady, and Sir Piccolo had told her the Asylum was no place for a Lady. Perhaps it would be fun to mess with him, to make him loosen up his stuffy demeanor for once.

There was a rustling in the leaves, almost like a rasping, hearty chuckle, the shadows of the trees forming into a broad set of shoulders, leading up to a raven flame. Long, shadowy, silhouetted hands stretched across the distance, and curled around her open throat, as a pale skinned apparition with milky white eyes whispered to her, his deathly pallor contrasting starkly with his red, glistening wet lips below thick, russet black hair, pulling back to reveal his glossy ivory teeth.

_Pulesh Dracosia,_

_Bitte. Bules...Mina._

The apparition coaxed her, approving of her bitter comments, it desired to drudge up the darkness from her pure soul; to make his bride embrace her bitterness, to become dark hearted, spitting bile from her lips. Bulma gazed up, her eyes wide; blue lashes curling back to the arch of her brows as she stared raptly at the trees. Her porcelain cheeks were touched with the red of her aroused blood, perspiration running down her temples, dampening her spiral curls, her chest heaving as she felt her breath stolen away by the Incubus, becoming lightheaded for a moment, before Piccolo turned back to her, the shadows retreating in response.

"..Yes, there are many trees, which makes for a gloomy appearance, as well as a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake, fed in by an underground aquifer which makes the water flow clearly, and away in a fair sized stream. This house is very large and of many periods back, I believe to the Medieval ages, for the part you see there, is immensely thick, with only a few windows very high up, barred with iron. It appears to be part of some type of keep, as is close to an ancient chapel." Piccolo educated her, pointing up to the tallest spire, which she marveled at in silence.

"The house has been added to, in a very straggling way, I can only guess as to the amount of ground it covers, but it must be immense. There are but few houses on hand, one being a very large house only recently added on, and formed into Dr. Tien Seward's Private Lunatic Asylum." His monotone baritone voice rumbling through her distraction, Bulma blinked rapidly. A thought came to her suddenly, _Hadn't Yamcha mentioned that the Count was buying up estates all around London?_

The gatekeeper saw them to the front door of the Asylum, then unlocked it with a key that hung from a ring attached to the shackles on his wrists, as Bulma noticed, and backed herself up into Piccolo's chest with her startled realization that the gatekeeper was in fact, one of the inmates. He turned towards her, and smiled with a mouthful of stumpy brown teeth, encouraging her to come inside with both shackled hands, bony knuckles scraped raw then scabbed over.

"Come on in, we'd love to have you there, Miss." He whispered with a lisp, his rancid breath brushing past her, she spoke in a breathless gasp.

"T-thank you…"

Bulma stepped forward to approach the door before her, and looked back at him to follow her, and he backed away quickly, hiding behind the door, clinging to it as if it were some type of protection from what was inside.

"You go inside, you never come out! They go in, and they scream, they never come out to play with me! Horses in the street, they want to be free, the black cat is the key-" He cried out, ranting utter nonsense, Piccolo pulled the door from his hands, and backed both himself and Bulma behind it as a blockade.

"Thank you, Klimek, that will be all." Piccolo barked gruffly, and Klimek shuffled backwards quickly, chains jangling as he did. Once returned to his post at the gate, he made a smacking sound with his lips, attempting to beckon the stray cat back.

"Heeere, kitty kitty kitty, come here puss, come on puss puss," The guard called to the cat, as if unaffected by what had just happened, he went back to dragging his knuckles along the wall as he shuffled back, and forth, using the small slot to look through, before passing it again, calling to the cat.

"That's enough of that, let's go." Piccolo whispered gruffly, and gave Bulma a small shove, closing the door behind the both of them. Bulma agreed, though her curiousity failed to be quenched, it was only further quenched now.

"What's wrong with him?" She asked, as they walked quickly down a torch lit corridor. Piccolo huffed, and led her towards the main building.

"He has a a terrible condition, claustrophobia of the indoors, and agoraphobia of the outdoors beyond the stonewall gate. Klimek can neither enter this fortress, nor exit, he is bound by the gate, he forever guards it, until his death."

* * *

**12th, May. Yamcha Harker's Journal.**

Let me begin with facts, verifiable by numbers, and by books, of which there can be no doubt. I must not confuse them with my odd experiences, which I will have to rely on my own recollection of. Last evening, when the Count came from his room, he approached my bedroom and began drilling me on topics of legal matters, and business. I had felt particularly weary that day after staying up late once again conversing with Vegeta, of which I have only the fuzziest memory of. I think I must have overindulged on liquor and those curious tasting wild tobacco cigars he aquires from the gypsies, they make my mouth very dry, and my eyes so heavy so that I can barely see clearly, so it's no wonder I was downing brandy after brandy. After napping sporadically throughout the day, I ignored my head cold and set myself to get something done, and dug my nose into the books; attempting to find more information pertaining to the matters I'd been educated on at Lincoln's Inn.

There was an interesting order to the Count's questions, so I'll list them as such and see if it has any bearing on their consequence. First, he asked me if a man might have more than one solicitors. I told him if he wished to, he could have a dozen, but in order to secure transactions in an organized fashion, he should only have one act at a time. He seemed to understand, then continued to elaborate, asking if he could perhaps have one attend to banking, and another for shipping, in the case local help was required in a place far from the home of the banking solicitor.

I asked him to expand upon his meaning, to which he said: "I shall illustrate, your friend and mine, Master Roshi, from under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Executer, buys for me through yourself, at my place in London. Good! Now, if I shall be frank, in avoiding sounding strange, say I sought out the assistance of another solicitor far from London to seek out an agent whose labors will be to my interest, alone. Now, suppose I wished to ship goods, say to Newcastle, Durham, Harwitch, or Dover, would it not make for more ease to arrange for shipment to one of these ports?"

I answered that certainly it would be possible, but that we solicitors had a system, so that local work was done locally, so that any client could have his needs attended to by one sole solicitor.

"But," He interjected, "I could be at liberty to direct myself, is that not true?"

"Of course," I replied, "and such is done by a businessmen who doesn't wish for all of their information to be shared with one solicitor."

"Good." He responded, then went on to inquire furthermore about how one would make consignments, and what types of paperwork and difficulties could arise from this, and I did my best to explain everything to him that I could, but I was left with the impression that with all the knowledge he has already attained, he himself could be a wonderful solicitor. For a man who has never been to London, had never been a businessman before, he was brilliant, and seemed to simply be using me to confirm his speaking points. Once satisfied he had all of his ideas in order, he suddenly stood and said: "Have you written since your first letter to our friend Master Roshi, or to any others?"

It was with a bitter taste in my mouth I responded that I hadn't, and that I hadn't foreseen having the chance to do so.

"Then write now, my friend." He said, resting his heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Write to him, and any loved ones you wish, and say, if it shall please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now."

"A month? Do you intend for me to stay so long..?" I asked, feeling my heart go cold with the thought of it.

"I do, intend this. In fact, I shall take no refusal. When your Master, or employer, as you say, instructed you to come on his behalf, it was thus implied that my needs were to be attended to, with no question, is it not so?" Vegeta intoned, his fingers tightening slightly on my shoulder as he leaned closer and hissed down the nape of my neck. What other choice did I have? He was right, after all I couldn't disappoint Master Roshi, and with the low way that Count Vegeta was speaking, and with his grip tightening, I could see that there was no other way in his eyes, and I was reminded once again that I am but his prisoner, and even if I wished to go against his orders, I had no other choice.

I bowed my head in obedience, and nodded, and he saw his victory in what surely was my twisted, dread filled expression, and spoke in that quickening way once again that was like a hissing rasp from his lips.

"I implore you, friend, that you do not discourse anything besides business in your letters. I'm sure that your friends would like to know that you are well, and that you look forward to coming home to them, is it not so?" Vegeta responded, and handed me three sheets of notepaper, and three envelopes. I took them, noting the lightness of the paper, and seeing that the foreign post was the thinnest possible. It was this, and then taking note of his firm, quiet smile with his fang teeth poking into his lower lip that I knew that anything I wrote, could easily be read by him. So, I must be careful in my writing, and be as formal as possible. For Bulma, I can write in shorthand, which I'm sure will puzzle the Count, if he does in fact read it.

Once I had written my letters, I sat quietly, reading a book whilst the Count himself wrote several notes, in reference to some books on the table. Then, he picked up my two letters and placed them with his own, beside his writing materials. Vegeta left the room for a moment, and the second the door swung shut, I leaned over to try and get a look at his letters, which were face down on the table. Mine were facing up, seeing as I felt no need to hide what little I'd written.

One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7, The Crescent, Whitby; another to Herr Leutner, Varna; the third was to Coutts Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock Billreuth, bankers, Buda-Pesth. The second and fourth were unsealed. I was just about to look at them, when I heard the door handle suddenly turn. I sank back into my seat quickly, having just enough time to put the letters back neatly, and opened the book back up as if I had been reading the entire time. The Count entered the room with a letter in his hand, then walked to the table, and began stamping each one carefully. Once finished, he turned to me, and said: "I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do this evening, alone. You will find all things as you wish.." He paused, holding the door open as he turned slightly to meet my gaze.

"Take my advice, friend… No, heed my advice with all seriousness. Should you leave these rooms, you will not fall asleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and may cause terrors on the night for any who sleeps unwisely… You have been warned. If at the cusp of sleep, make haste back to your chamber, and then your sleep shall be safe. But, if you aren't careful, well?" He finished darkly, and moved his hands in a washing motion. I understood quite well, and nodded quickly, gulping anxiously as Vegeta turned slowly back around, his dark obsidian chasms grazing over me, before looking away quickly, and slamming the door behind him with finality. I quite understood; my only doubt was whether or not any mere dream could be more terrible than this waking nightmare of gloom and misery that was closing in around me.

* * *

"There, what a gentleman you are!" Panchy Murray enthused, straightening the black hat balanced atop two floppy pink ears. Oolong blushed as she fretted over his bow tie, straightening the pig's attire so that he looked just the gentlemen she had described, as he stood before the tall full-length mirror in the dressing room of the Murray's expansive estate.

"The scent of the swine has greatly improved," Dr. Murray chimed in, taking a pause from puffing on his wooden pipe to test the clever concoction he had made to cover his still putrid odor. No matter how long after he'd been revived, the scent of decomposition had yet to leave him, even after a long bath with Lye soap, and careful debridement of the necrotic flesh.

"I sure look better than I ever did, I can't thank ya ennuf, Doc. You're simply a magician, you and Mrs. Murray have been ever so kind ta little ol' me. I'm not sure how I could ever repay your hospitality." Oolong said bashfully as Panchy backed away from her work, and smiled at the seamstress who had assisted them, handing her a coin for her work, as well as for her promise to keep what she had seen secret.

"Well, we simply cannot expect a private investigator to be able to do his tasks well with a malodorous aroma like that, you'd be sniffed out, and that would be rather unfortunate." The doctor stated, then pulled out a glass bottle from the breast pocket of his lab coat.

"Take this, and use it daily on your inner arms, bottom hooves, and wherever else the odor is still prevalent." The doctor said, and handed the pig the bottle filled with vibrant yellow liquid, labeled 'Ammonia'.

"Gotcha, doc. I'll keep myself fresh, and watch out for black spots." Oolong said chipperly, nodding, and Panchy leaned down and kissed his cheek, before backing away to dab at her upturned eyes with a tissue.

"Oh dear, be sure to write to us! We'll miss you so much. I'll send clippings of anything of importance from the papers, along with my flowers." Panchy informed him, and lifted up a pink hat with tassels, placing it atop her blonde bouffant. Dr. Murray looked at his wristwatch, the face of it glowing with a touch of radium to enhance the lettering, and hummed.

"We really must be going to the train station right away. Let's take the day buggy, come along Mr. Grimes." He said and tapped his cane at the little pig to get him going. Oolong fetched his new briefcase, this one made of good, strong black leather with tiny wheels at the bottom, and followed the elder Murrays down the winding staircase.

Oolong found it slightly odd when Mrs. Murray coaxed their blue cat Purr with a piece of dried fish, using it to have him crawl into a round carrier with ivory bars and a flat bottom; apparently planning to take the cat with her.

They made their way out to the stage coach, where Oolong marvelled at the large, lacquered redwood buggy, with two large, sleek looking white and brown thoroughbreds at the helm. Dr. Murray assisted his wife into the coach, as Oolong helped maneuver her large, pink lace draped bustle through the door. It was a nice trip through the countryside, and it didn't take long at all to arrive at the station in the Bermondsey district of Southwark.

Once the horses and buggy were boarded for the day, they went up the stairs to the platform, then took the London Bridge Railway to Kent, where they would be arriving at Dover in record time. They sat comfortably in the train car, Dr. Murray sat smoking and reading the paper, while Panchy enjoyed her trip, busying herself by reading an American romance novel, scratching the large, pointed ears of the blue and white cat sleeping on her lap.

Dr. Murray set down his paper on the table and pointed, showing Oolong where he had marked the map for him.

"Oolong my good man, listen up well. You are to take the Grand Tour, as any good young man should. Why, when I was a young lad I took the tour myself, with the help of my cicerone. Now, yours isn't such a rite of passage, but more for your investigation into these deaths."

"Understood, Doc. I'm all business this time, no play. " Oolong said, and Dr. Murray agreed that this was a wise choice.

"Good, and once we arrive in Dover, you will take the ferry across the channel into Calais, where you should boat your way to the edge of the Alps, from there you shall take the Great St. Bernard Pass into Genoa. Your cicerone shall direct your way, I trust you shall get to Naples on the sum we have entrusted you with." Dr. Murray insisted, and the pig nodded, folding up the map and putting it in his breast pocket.

"Yessir, an' I won't take no back roads, no side ways, no buts about it."

"Correct, you are a businessman, and what are you doing?"

"Selling carnations, flowers for the ladies. Daisies is an All-American charmer, Rosies for your lady in waiting at dinner, and Lilies for your Mistress at Midnight, to steal a kiss before the Morning Bell's first bloomin'." Oolong recited his sales pitch, tipping his hat with a small daisy tucked in the brim.

Panchy clapped her hands gaily; giggling with pleasure.

"And don't worry, our shipment of flowers from the garden will get there just after morning, once you've had a rest. I'm sure all the ladies in Naples would love to have a sniff of your bouquet!" She said with excitement, her husband patting her arm to calm her.

"Yes, using the cover as a carnation vendor can do you some good to cover up your own odor, as well as get you into any funeral parlor; private or otherwise." He added, and Oolong agreed. If he could provide the arrangements for any deaths that happened suddenly, he could very well have a first hand account of who walked in to the wake, and why.

Another thing he knew very well, is that Napoli Westerna himself had an expansive flower garden, along with a great fruit orchard, and that he himself loved yellow roses, a rare treat, which he had many of. The idea was to get into the estate unnoticed; under the cover of flower buisness. It was risky, and perhaps too obvious, but wasn't it true that, 'the best kept secrets are the ones hidden right under your nose'? That clever idom was what they were going with at this moment, and how, what with flowers in the mix.

Flowers in themselves were a secret language to the Victorians, and one way that Oolong could communicate with the Murrays, was by sending them flowers. A Canterbury blue bell would be his message back to them, notifying them he had received their letters, but nothing yet. A white lily would let them know if there was a death, and that he required a flower arrangement for a funeral. An orange Poppy would be his signal for distress, if he had been somehow found out. Yellow Marguerites would signal that he was returning to them, and a purple Iris would be included with his message back to them letting them know he had news of great importance. His notes would be coded to the Murray's, and included with the flower arrangements for the utmost secrecy.

Oolong straightened his bow tie nervously, sweat running down the side of his face from the long ride on the train, his stomach already rolling with his anxiety, feeling heavy from the lunch he'd eaten. They had a nice, fulfilling lunch of brisket, roasted sweet potatoes and had black pudding for dessert, with some red tea, served iced with lemons. Panchy pulled open the window to waft the crisp sea air onto her dewy decolletage with a paper fan, admiring the sight of the vast aqua blue ocean before them.

"Oh, dear, Bulamina would have loved to spend a day with us at the beach." She sighed, and Dr. Murray tutted, puffing on his corncob pipe across from her, as he patted her hand.

"Don't fret, Panchetta my dear, Bulma is spending the day at Ms. Westerna's manor. She won't be home for a few more days or so, what say you we take a day trip as well?" He soothed, and Panchy's eyes lit up, the sparkling blue of them visible for just a moment.

"Really? Oh, to see the white cliffs of Dover, how romantic!" She giggled, and the doctor nodded, his wife's worries abated by the promises of a day at the beach. Oolong took a deep breath, his heart stuttering in his chest as they arrived at the Marina. The Murrays arranged for their tickets, pulling his collar away from his neck where it was sticking. The line to wait in was ages long, and he couldn't see a thing over all the top hats and parasols blocking the entrance where other passengers waited to check in. Oolong shook a few drops of ammonia out into his hand, and patted it on his neck as if it were aftershave.

"Next!" He was called, then looked back at the Murrays for encouragement, Panchy waving him on enthusiastically.

"We'll catch up! If we aren't on the same ferry, then good luck, and may your travels be fair!" She said sweetly, and he tipped his hat to her, the doctor nodding to him once, firmly, a familiar sparkle in his eye. Oolong turned away, and made his way to the check-in station, a small shadow flying after him.

* * *

The sweet, sickening scent of decaying earth filled Gokuseppe's nostrils, the scent so pungent, that it was nauseatingly thick, mixed with the mouldering decay beneath the spindly, thorny branches barren of fruit, dried leaves scattering across the bare patches of earth.

"By the sweat of your face

You will eat bread

Until you return to the ground,

For from it you were taken;

For you are dust,

And to dust, you shall return."

A gruff whisper came to him, awakening him from where he lied in the desolate thornyard.

Goku sat up, and looked around himself for the mystery voice. All around him for miles, remained nothing but dry, twisted fruit trees that the vitality had been sucked dry from.

"Where am I?" He asked aloud, apprehension clear in his voice as he stood, and dusted off the back of his pants, patting dirt from the seat of them.

"These are.. Cursed lands." The whisper returned, this time nearby, Goku turning around quickly towards the source. What he saw shocked him, his mouth hanging aghast as he came face to face with a twin of him; yet it was transparent, made from flowing dirt that flowed, and made the temporary form.

"You… you're me?" Goku gasped, pointing at how the dirt man had the same hair, was the same height as him, but the face that swirled, and moved too quickly to be perceptible was a mystery.

"From dirt, I am. To Earth, we are one in the same. Long ago I roamed the land... But that is no longer of any consequence." The man whispered to him.

"So.. are you telling me I was... born again?" Goku said with a puzzled face.

"I was born again. Not you." The dirt man responded hastily, glancing back towards a massive gate, with barbed wire guarding the very top of it from entrance.

"Are you in a hurry?" Goku asked the man, putting his hands in his pockets, and feeling something funny there.

"I don't have much more time to wait. Show me what's in your hands." The dirt man said impatiently, thrusting out his hands in earnest supplication.

"I beg you." He said in a reverent whisper, and Goku understood, pulling out his pockets as he took both objects from his pants. He held up the brown tail bristle from Raditz, and a crow's feather from his transformation.

They glowed red to his surprise, and the dirt man took them.

"Godless men. Servants of The Prince of Darkness." The dirt man gravelled lowly, then the objects in his hands glowed a more radiant red, then ignited into flame, burning away.

"Hey! That's my evidence!" Goku clamored, attempting to catch the dust particles.

"Take my hands." The figure said, and Goku hesitated for just a moment, before taking them gently with his.

"Is something supposed to happen?" He wondered aloud, but was quickly answered by the dirt fragments flying at him, clinging to him as he screamed, and fell back as if shards of glass had hit him, rubbing the dirt off of himself in a panic.

Goku tossed and turned in bed, whimpering in his sleep as the dream experience terrified him.

"Sandman, don't- get off of me!" He muttered, tossing his head from side to side.

"Goku, mein gott! You were just having a dream! Now, calm down!" A familiar voice filtered in through his fear, and Goku began to stir, still mumbling incoherently about the odd dream.

"If you wake up, I've got breakfast waiting for you.." The old man soothed, leaning down to watch the younger one stir. As expected, he opened his eyes, and began rubbing the tiredness out of them.

"Good morning, Grandpa.. What's for breakfast?" Goku murmured, and his grandfather sat on the edge of the bed, polishing his spectacles on his black robe.

"Oh, crispy potatoes, eggs, fried Boudin sausage.." He began, then put out one hand and stopped Goku from flying out of bed.

"Ah, ah now, you wait just a moment before hurrying down to eat. Tell me about this dream before you forget all about it." His grandfather said, poking him once in the back. Goku sprung up, then turned around and sat back down, and relayed every detail he could remember of the dream back to him.

"Curious, that is.. very interesting." He remarked, stroking his white moustache.

"Grandpa Gohan, do you think that man in my dream could have been my real father?" Goku said with a pout, his eyebrows furrowing together worriedly.

"From what I could gather, he was like you said, more like a twin and yet, I have a hunch; however I may be blasphemous for saying it, out of fear I do not…" Grandpa Gohan shook his head and stood, placing both hands on Goku's burly shoulders.

"The fact is, your origins to me are unknown. All I can recall, was how I found you in the woods after I was trailing a pair of rogue Vaiyans. I was so close to catching them, but…" Grandpa Gohan closes his eyes; recalling how he was cut off, beaten to the prey by Napoli and his men. Gokuseppe's true parents were hunted, then harvested for their tails. Gohan sighed, not wishing to tell his adopted son the bloody truth.

"I was stopped by a crying little bundle at my feet… the first thing you did, was bite my hand, hehe.. You were such a wild little boy."

"Do you think that man in my dream was.. really me? Could that explain..?" Goku began, looking at his own hands.

"I can't give you an answer, but for the holy spirit works in many ways, strange ways… Say, do you want muffins?"

"Grandpa!" Goku huffed, but couldn't refuse the promises of a delicious Southern Dutch breakfast, with a touch of the regional Italian cuisine.

"You need to eat more than bread and scraps from the street, mein liebchen. I've made a grand breakfast, special made just for this day." He said, and gestured for Goku to follow him down the stairs of the cottage, deep in the cypress forest.

"What's today? I'm sorry, I haven't been bringing lots of money in. I lost the trail on him." Goku apologized, scratching his head.

"Don't be in such a hurry. Those ones that you're chasing aren't quite as nice as you." He warned him, pulling out a chair for Goku to sit at the head of the table. Goku sat and looked around at the delicious spread, licking his lips.

"Gefeliciteerd! Happy Birthday, Gokuseppe!" Grandpa Gohan said happily, clapping his hands as Goku's eyes widened, surprised.

"Today's my birthday?" He said excitedly, looking on eagerly as his Grandpa began serving him various foods on a plate, covering it with dark stroop syrup.

"Yes. You were still wet behind the ears when I found you, just a tiny little thing… Now, it's been a wonderful twenty-five years we have spent together." He said softly, and set the plate down gently before Goku, then sat down and dabbed at his forehead with a rag.

"What's wrong? Want me to get you a washrag, Grandpa?"

"No thank you.. I'm alright. It's just so hot, I've never truly gotten used to the heat." He sighed, tucking it back into his pocket.

Dr. Johannes Van Helsing had immigrated to Italy from South Belgium, following the rumors of a Vaiyan hot spot, where once the Prince himself had been sighted once one dark, far far away night. All of that had been put to an end though, once he found the tiny Vaiyan pup helpless, in nothing but a bloody rag. He found that once he removed the child's tail, he became docile, happy and sweet.

He watched as Goku took the opportunity, and began eating, ravenously as he always did, though Gohan was sure he still had many more questions for him, and not all of them did he have the strength to answer. He took a plate for himself and they ate in companionable silence. Once finished, Goku gathered up all his plates, and took them to the wash basin to begin washing them, humming happily as he did; for a moment forgetting the more urgent matters at hand.

Gohan smiled as his pupil got to work, then walked away from the kitchen, and went gingerly towards his study in the lower level of the sturdy little cottage. He carried a flickering candle with him, which made reflects on the large silver cross swinging from his priestly robes. He shut the door tight behind him, locking it, then made his way towards the wall of books, setting his candle down on his desk, scattered with various artifacts and scraps of paper. On the desk was a dark, heavy glass jar with amber liquid in it, housing a tiny, preserved vaiyan tail, the one once belonging to Goku.

Gohan muttered to himself as he took a large text from the shelf, and used the candlelight to see the words on the pages before him. He found the desired page, marked with a red leather bookmark. He pointed to the ancient script on the page, and began reading aloud to himself.

"Year 752…Genocide Of The Vaiyans.

The Frieza race come to take what is their payment; the last remaining band of Vaiyans, holed up in their castle in fear.

From Trufflesylvania rose a Vaiyan Prince, who, known throughout Eastern Europe for his bloodthirsty ways- leads 7,000 of his countrymen in a bold, pre-dawn attack against 30,000 Truffles. He hailed from the sacred order of the Ōozaru, known as Vraculya...

On the eve of battle, his bride, Bulesabetha, whom he prized above all things on Earth; knew that he must face an insurmountable force, from which he might never return." He whispered gruffly to himself, then turned the page.

"Of the Trufflomanian clergy struck down by Prince Vegeta the IV, Paragus the Proud... Torah the Tenacious, Bardock the Brave, anointed in 735… Black of hair, six peaks make his jagged crown. Tourmaline eyes. bronze complexion, known for his stern demeanor, and gentle compassion... 'Six peaks make his jagged crown?' What could that possibly mean?"

Gohan muttered, turning the page, he then came to see the illuminated paintings on the next page, the monastic text honoring the clergy of three that was lost, each painted in the image of the priests. The spectacular image was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes as he gasped, and stroked the image of Goku's ancestor before him, in brilliant red and gold emblazoned vestements, a strong build beneath his cassock, as he wore a pointed black skufia and carried a trident scepter.

"Mein gott…He is the Incarnation of a Saint! These old eyes, they can barely believe what I know to be true.." Gohan whispered, stroking the page where the image of the priest showed he indeed had six matching spikes, odd peaks of hair that he only knew Goku to have.

"Then, he is destined to face the Prince of Darkness once again… My son, I hope you can brave this evil…"

* * *

_Later..._

The crucifix swayed as Yamcha placed it on the solitary nail above his headrest, hands shaking. Yamcha had now come to a conclusion at on all of speculations and fears, of which now he had no doubt. The Count was not just an eccentric royal with nothing better to do with his riches than buy up half of England, no. Staying here was in fact, quite dangerous. He took Vegeta's words seriously; and knew, that wherever he slept could be dangerous if not in the safety of his own bedchamber.

 _Wherever Vegeta is not, is safe._ Yamcha thought, with confidence in his conclusion, stilling the little cross as it swayed on the wall. After awhile, once he was certain he hadn't heard a sound, he carefully opened his door, and went up the stone stairs, to where he could look outside, towards the south. There was a sense of freedom in such a wide expanse, one unattainable to Yamcha himself. Looking out this way, through a high window in the sheer castle, he felt even more like a prisoner than before. Yamcha was beginning to feel the effects of his nocturnal existence, his nerves worn so thin that even his own shadow startles him.

Yamcha looked out over the beautiful expanse; bathed in soft golden moonlight til it was illuminated, almost like day. Within this soft light, jagged hills far in the distance became melted, the shadows in the valleys and gorges, velvety blackness. The mere beauty seemed to cheer him; bringing peace and comfort with every breath he drew. As he leaned out the window, his attention was drawn to something moving a story below, aways to the left, from where he imagined by the layout of the rooms, the Count's would be looking out at. The window at which Yamcha stood was deep, stone-mullioned, and though eroded by time, was still sturdy.

Yamcha leaned back behind the stonework, and looked carefully out. What he saw was the Count's head coming from the window. There was no mistake, without even seeing his face, he recognized the flame of hair, and the build of his strong neck and shoulders. In any case, he couldn't mistake the white gloves he wore, with a red bejeweled ring on his finger, that he'd had the opportunity to study at length. It's a curious side-effect of being made a prisoner; you notice things you'd otherwise not be amused by.

But, Yamcha's feelings changed to revulsion and terror, once he saw the entire man slowly emerge out of the window, and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, _face down,_ with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings. Yamcha blinked, thinking it was some trick of the light, and shadows; still he kept looking, and could not believe his eyes. It was no delusion. Count Vegeta's fingers gripped the stones, and mortar worn by many years, then used them to push off of the wall, his red cloak rippling as he flew with an audible snapping of fabric.

Yamcha fell back into the bedroom, gasping for breath. _What manner of man, or beastly creature is this in the semblance of man? I feel an overwhelming sense of dread of this horrible place overwhelming me; I am in fear...in awful fear... and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed by terrors I dare not think of..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Please, feel welcome to comment any thoughts. What do you think my code name Vroalthie could mean? Thank you so much for reading.


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